


To Heal is to Live

by spookyserpent



Series: Pour Gold into the Cracks (and Watch Me be Fixed) [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Is Alive, Found Family, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrids, John Mulaney References, Michael the Zombie Pigman, Mumza - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicide mentions, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Time Travelling Karl Jacobs, Wedding Wars, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyserpent/pseuds/spookyserpent
Summary: “I do care about you-“ Techno tries to say but Tommy shakes his head.“No, you don’t. To you, we’re not even related. I’m just a kid, who should’ve died like a hero when my other brother blew up our country.”“Tommy-“ Wilbur starts and Tommy sniffles, rubs his hand across his face. His hands have started to shake and he knows his voice is wavering.“I never wanted to be a fucking hero!” He hisses.Or, the healing of child soldiers, the lingering effects of being dead, adults unwittingly becoming parents and Gods discovering what it’s like to be human.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: Pour Gold into the Cracks (and Watch Me be Fixed) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190312
Comments: 323
Kudos: 779





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, hi again!! :)
> 
> I was originally going to leave this for a while, until I’ve written more but after last nights stream... I wanted to give you guys something nice because we honestly need it in this trying time. 
> 
> This is the second instalment of Protecting the Traumatised Youth but you can read this on it’s own if you wish. 
> 
> It’s mostly going to focus on the other characters thoughts while involving Sam and Tommy - I love them, your honour. 
> 
> I will add tags when I update, which won’t be as frequent as last time, so I apologise, but I hope you enjoy all the same.
> 
> If the CC’s want this removed, it will be. 
> 
> TW// mention of past abuse, panic attacks, dissociation, scars, mentions of past suicidal thoughts, mentions of death and blood, mental health discussions 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Most of the time, he can forget. Well, the scars are still there, even if he hides them with bandages and ignores any mirrored surface. Most of the time, he can compartmentalise what happened to him. As a child soldier, it’s trick he was taught young to stomach what he saw, to handle the bloodshed and the war and the chaos of everyday life. 

He’s happy. He is. When Tubbo wants to have a snowball fight, he can pull up a smile and fight him. When Jack and Niki want to help with the hotel, he can pull up a a smile and be mature, be kind even if using insults are like second nature. When Wilbur or Technoblade or Phil want to speak to him, he can pull up a smile and resist the urge to flinch and instead, simply listen. 

Only, the longer he stays with Sam, the more that perfect picture he’s built for himself starts to crumble. 

It’s not that Sam demands answers from him, it’s not even that Sam really asks. It’s that Sam is there, Sam listens, Sam understands. He doesn’t give him a pitying look or false promises. Sam holds him or gives him space and a part of him hates it, hates how easy Sam can interact with him, hates how Sam can walk through his defences like they’re nothing but sand or gravel. 

He isn’t sad or depressed. He’s not even angry. Most of the time, he doesn’t feel anything. The numbness blocks what he went through, how it burnt a part of him - that childlike wonder, that innocence and naivety of a boy who already had so little of it after growing up on the streets - and reduced it to ash. 

And then Sam has to go and lay his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeeze.

“Everything okay?” He asks as Tommy stands at his breakfast table, blinking down at the toast he’s yet to touch. 

Tommy nods, wonders how he yet again ended up in Sam’s house, finding Fran sitting at his heels. Sometimes he drifts, like he’s a ship without an anchor, waiting to see solid ground. 

“You sure?” Sam asks and Tommy finally pulls his gaze from the toast to look up at Sam. He nods again and while Sam’s eyes shine with concern, he doesn’t ask. Sam doesn’t push, he hovers - unlike Phil - but he doesn’t push.

Tommy sort of hates him for it. 

Sam removes his hand, gestures to the plate. “You only have to eat one slice and then I’ll make you a hot chocolate.” 

Even with the haze in his mind - easier to forget, to ignore - he wants the hot chocolate. Sam’s is second to Techno’s with Phil’s coming in third. He narrows his eyes playfully. 

“One slice?” He finally speaks and it’s like his tongue is lead in his mouth. 

Sam smiles at him, so carefree and calm and it makes Tommy want to hate him. “Yeah. One slice and then hot chocolate.”

Reluctantly, Tommy picks it up, bites and starts to chew, the food like rotten flesh in his mouth. Sometimes when he eats, he’s reminded of exile, when food was scarce and tasteless so he had to savour every morsel. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t feel like it but Sam is smiling at him, working to find the hot chocolate powder in the cupboard and Tommy always wants Sam to smile at him like that, likes he’s worth something, like he’s good. 

He remembers when he first met Phil, when the man would do the same thing, when he would give out affection freely. A touch to the back of his neck, a hand in his hair, a quick embrace. Tommy had flourished under the attention, loved it. 

Now, as he chokes down the food, he’s reminded of what it was like when that affection was ripped away from him. Phil and his many jobs, his travels. Wilbur, being there at the start, practically raising him in the later years, only for his touches to become cruel all too quickly. Dream and his embraces peppered with beatings. 

When Sam passes him the mug, easily takes the plate and eats the slice Tommy couldn’t, he wonders how long it will be before Sam turns on him. When he’ll leave Tommy alone or when his touches become harsh. 

“I’m planning on helping Techno with that extension he’s planning. You coming?” Sam asks and Tommy’s throat immediately closes up at the thought because Techno means Phil and Phil means Wilbur and all of that means he’ll be surrounded by his family. A family, he’s yet to form a solid opinion on. 

Exile proved to Tommy that only two things were constant: finding any and all ways to survive and being alone was normal, was safer. 

It’s not like he’s scared of his family. Wilbur’s back to being the Wilbur before L’Manberg, the Wilbur with bright eyes and a silver tongue and sure, he’s a little intense but he’s not insane. Phil will always be Phil, a distant father figure but a father all the same. Techno is just Techno, with his sharp gaze and sharper words and incessant need for violence. 

“Tom?” Sam asks, gently and he snaps his head up, instinctively flinches back before righting himself. Sam doesn’t give him a pitying look. He simply freezes in place, doesn’t try to crowd Tommy or push him. He waits until Tommy can breathe again, keeping his palms flat on the table where Tommy can see them. 

“I can stay here and we can watch movies, if you’d like.” Sam says and Tommy hates how understanding Sam is, how quick he is to work out what Tommy can never say. 

Tommy shakes his head as quickly as he can, puts that false bravado into his voice. “No, no, no, I don’t want to ruin your plans, Big Man. I’ll come, see if I can steal more of Tech’s gapples.” 

Sam laughs, easily dropping the subject, and says, “you know, I have a stack if you’re after them that badly.” 

“It’s not the same, Sam,” Tommy breathes, feeling lighter in Sam’s laughter. “How can I be a dirty crime boy if I get offered gapples instead of stealing them from the Blade?” 

“I thought Wil was the dirty crime boy?” 

Tommy shakes his head. “No, no, man, Wil’s the original. I’m the upgraded version. I’m the shit.”

Sam laughs again and Tommy can feel himself rise at sound. He can make Sam laugh. He can make him happy. 

“You know,” Sam says once they’re out of the door, walking towards Snowchester where Tubbo has built a railway to Techno’s, much to his annoyance. “I have spare bedrooms for a reason. You don’t need to sleep on my couch.” 

Tommy shrugs, doesn’t even remember making it to the couch. “The bed’s too soft, man.” 

He’s used to sleeping on the floor, under a flimsy tent or inside a ravine, rocks as his pillows and his own shirt as a blanket. Sure, he made himself a bed, a priority if ever he needed to respawn but even that was with his own hands. The wood too hard and the wool too little. He grew to accept his sleeping conditions, finding it easy to sleep in harsh conditions, at the drop of a hat, anywhere. He’s learnt to sleep with a sword by his side, a hand gripping a dagger. He’s learnt to wake at the slightest of sounds, ready to defend and attack. 

Sam frowns and says, “I’m sure I can make you a harder bed if that’s more comfortable.”

Tommy hates how understanding he is, how perceptive. Tommy is used to people finding him annoying, pushing him away, getting angry when he’s too loud or simply too much. Sam has never done any of that. In fact, when Tommy gets excited, when the words spill from his mouth uncontrollably, Sam smiles at him, all happy and glad. 

Tommy still finds it strange that Sam hasn’t pushed him away, hasn’t lashed out. Even after his death - the only memory he has is Niki telling him she had to leave to tell Jack something, the sound of a boom, and then nothing but blackness before he found himself blinking up at Wilbur’s concerned and angry face - Sam has only ever been kind, careful. Yet he never treats Tommy like glass, like he might break if handled with too much pressure. 

“Sure, man.” He says finally, realising that he can see Snowchester, that he’s been silent for too long to not be worrying. “I’ll bet you diamonds now, though, that it won’t be the same.” 

Sam’s eyes spark and it should be concerning for a creeper hybrid to have flames in their eyes but Tommy finds it fascinating. “Deal. A stone bed?” 

Tommy can’t help but start laughing. “It’ll feel like home.” 

Sam doesn’t ask, even if the fire is replaced with one more of concealed anger. Sam doesn’t push. Tommy hates how grateful it makes him feel. 

The rest of the journey is only broken by Tommy’s rambling about the Hunger Games, his new favourite set of movies. Sam interrupts to add his own theories - Tommy had watched it once on his own, another with Sam and a third with Sam, Tubbo and Ranboo - and thoughts and soon Tommy finds himself stepping from the minecart into the snow. Over the hill, Techno’s house lets out smoke from the chimney and Tommy can spot the bright, blue-white light of the beacon. 

Sam walks them to the door with Tommy stepping closer to Sam’s natural, warmer body temperature. Even with the thick coat Sam provided, the chill still sets in his bones, reminding him of the ravine, of trekking this same path as he ran from Dream. 

“If you want to leave,” Sam says, quietly, “just squeeze my wrist or tell me, okay?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes even as the words burn hot inside of him. “I know, Big Man.” 

Sam huffs a quick laugh and then they’re stepping past Carl, who headbutts Tommy on the shoulder as they pass. Tommy gives Carl a quick stroke across his nose and the horse huffs for more as they walk up the stairs. Tommy is slightly concerned at the pair of polar bears outside and the set of arctic foxes near Carl but Techno has always had a strange, caring attitude towards animals. 

Tommy can remember back at their original house how Techno spent most of his days in the stables. He was either sparring, farming potatoes, reading his stupid mythological books or with the horses, the cows, the pigs, the chickens. For him, cleaning the stables, brushing the horses, anything animal related wasn’t a chore. It was a hobby. 

Sam blinks at the polar bears but doesn’t comment as he approaches the door and knocks. Tommy can just make out Ranboo’s house sticking out from the mountain side, smoke billowing up into the sky. 

The door swings open and Techno huffs at both of them. “You both have keys or have you developed memory problems like the local amnesiac?”

Sam laughs, rolls his eyes. “I apologise for being nice and not wanting to intrude-“

“Ah, but Sam, you know Techno doesn’t know what nice means,” Wilbur interrupts as he climbs up the ladders, grinning at both of them. “Hey, Toms.” 

“Hey, dickhead. How’s living in my old den?” 

Wilbur scoffs. “Your raccoon home is lovely, thank you. Phil renovated it and I personally think the yellow suits me.” 

“I thought you were living with Fundy?” Sam asks and Techno snorts a laugh as Wilbur glares at him. 

“Oh, you didn’t tell him? That’s hilarious.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Tech. I don’t have to tell our family therapist anything-“

“-he got kicked out-“

“-shut up!” Wilbur snaps and Sam is snapping his head between the pair as Tommy rests against the wall, finally clocking the massive polar bear in the living room and knowing their little fight might take awhile. “Fundy didn’t kick me out-“

“Yes, he did.” Techno responds, leaving no room for Wilbur to argue against his confidence. “He wanted space from his dear old dad.” 

“I’m going to stab you, now.” Wilbur says, pulling himself up and Tommy sees the opportunity to intervene before any bloodshed can occur.

“Why’d you have a fucking great bear in here?” Tommy asks and everyone looks to him. 

Techno, after a moment of staring, shrugs. “Steve was tired after his walk so I brought him inside so he could sleep by the fire.” 

Tommy snorts. “You called a polar bear ‘Steve’? What the fuck, man?”

“He’s my bear, I can name him whatever I want.” Techno replies defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I wanted your opinion on the matter, I would’ve messaged you. But I didn’t because I don’t.” 

For a second, everyone blinks at him and then Techno drops his gaze and hisses, “chat, stop spamming Technosoft, or I swear-“ 

Sam doesn’t even blink at the strangeness of Techno talking to the voices in his head and Tommy is yet again surprised by how understanding Sam is. Tommy would understand if Sam did it because he didn’t care - other people didn’t ask when Techno mumbled to himself because they really couldn’t care why he was - but Sam does care. Sam has made it increasingly clear that once you’re in his family bubble, you’re under his care and protection. 

When it comes to adopting people, he’s almost as bad as Phil. 

“Does he accept pets?” Sam asks and when Techno shrugs, Sam walks over and briefly holds his hand out for Steve to sniff before running his fingers across his head. For such a large and intimidating animal, Steve melts under the attention.

Wilbur sighs. “How do you keep getting away with this? Is it because your hands are warm? Oh my god, this is insane. That’s Tech’s emotional support bear and you now have Steve wrapped around your finger.” 

Sam laughs at him, digging his fingers right around Steve’s ears and the bear leans into it. Techno sighs, loudly and Wilbur just stares in confusion. 

“He’s not going to steal Steve, chat,” Techno mutters and Sam shoots him a quick look. 

“I might. I bet he gives good hugs when it’s cold.” Sam replies and Techno rolls his eyes. 

“Come help me build my extension instead of stealing my bear or I’ll find your base and steal that dog-“

“No.” Wilbur shakes his head. “Not another pet war.”

Wilbur looks over at Tommy and he just can’t. He turns to stare out at the snow instead, ignoring the longing in his chest. Sure, Wilbur and him may have talked but it still feels like walking on eggshells, everything with their family feels like walking on eggshells. 

Techno and his silences, Phil and his worried eyes, Wilbur and his intense stares. They are always at an impasse, the thread keeping them together too thin for much more than formalities. 

Sam is the only one to start to build bridges between them, always there to step in, to defend but Sam never involves himself too heavily. He knows when to back off, to let them try and heal by themselves. Tommy doesn’t know how to explain that they can’t. Without his interference, nothing would get done, no words would be spoken. 

Tommy is so busy trying to ignore them that he doesn’t realise they’ve started to move until Sam is slowly stepping beside him, hands visible at all times. It makes Tommy want to snap, to tell him that he doesn’t need to be babied but he knows Sam doesn’t do it for that. He also will never admit how comforted it makes him feel. 

“You coming, Toms?” Wilbur asks, head popping up from where he’s climbing down the ladder and Tommy nods, let’s Sam follow him down. 

It isn’t until they hit the basement that Tommy made - newly expanded with all of Wilbur’s things - that the breath gets caught in his throat. He remembers running here, desperately and in so much pain, confused and scared and so alone. He’d stolen from Techno what he thought he wouldn’t miss and then dug straight down to protect himself beneath his brother’s house, mind whirring with loyalties and fear. 

He both trusted Dream and feared him while not knowing whether Techno would immediately stab him on sight or send him back to Dream’s eager hands. 

Looking down at himself, in armour, he wonders when he’ll have to hand this over, blow it up. He wonders when Sam’s gentle hand becomes a fist. He wonders when his family’s understanding becomes rejection. 

He must be doing something because Sam places himself in front of him, hands raised as if in a surrender. A low keening noise fills the room, echoing around and it takes a long while before Tommy realises he’s the one who’s making it. 

Slapping a hand over his mouth, he flinches back, dropping his gaze, knowing that Dream hated when Tommy flinched from him, that Dream hated when he made too much of a bother. He’s shaking, violently. Fear turning his stomach, making his palms sweaty and lights dance in his vision. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, unconsciously and Sam’s face doesn’t change as he looks at him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, Tommy,” he says, calmly, evenly and it’s grounding. “Do you want to go back upstairs? I bet Steve wouldn’t mind a Tommy hug.” 

He finds himself blinking and then he sees movement behind Sam, sees the rage in both Wilbur and Techno’s faces and curls in on himself further. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, why are they mad, what does he need to do- 

“Tommy,” Sam says and Tommy is immediately looking to him, apologises filling his mouth like blood. “Do you want to leave?” 

He shakes his head but he feels like he’s drowning, like he’s slipping into waters he can’t fight against. “I’m fine,” he finally breathes, voice hoarse. 

Slowly, Sam reaches out, allowing Tommy to track the movement until he’s gripping his wrist and pulling it away from his face. The pressure is solid but not crushing and Tommy tips slightly forward before catching himself. 

“What do you need?” Sam asks and Tommy just blinks at him, trying to find the double meaning, trying to find the dishonesty and lies hidden within the words. It’s Sam. Of course he doesn’t find anything. 

“Can I-“ Tommy tries, stilling, waiting for a hit but nothing comes so he exhales, tries again. “Can I go upstairs?”

He can see the look shared by his brothers, the look that is all questions. This isn’t the loud mouth Tommy they know. This isn’t the boy who challenged a God. This isn’t the same person who would fight even when he knew he was going to lose. 

Tommy doesn’t know where that version of him is, doesn’t know if he’ll ever see him again. He can fake it pretty well considering Techno and Wilbur rarely see his bad days. Days when he can’t make himself move, when he can’t stomach more than liquids, when the only thing he can say is apologies. 

Those days are spent with Sam because Tommy trusts Sam with his life, with his mind, with his deepest secrets. Sam is there and Sam only asks if it’s important and he’s comforting and he always drops everything for Tommy. Sam doesn’t have to travel or do challenges or spend his time fantasising over TNT. 

“Sure, Tom,” Sam says and with Tommy’s wrist still in his hand, he gently tugs Tommy to the ladder, away from the basement filled with memories of terror and pain. 

Tommy climbs and Sam follows, doesn’t ask, doesn’t push, just follows. Tommy heads towards Steve and sits beside him. The polar bear blinks at him but doesn’t attack so Tommy counts it as a win as he leans back into white fur and closes his eyes. 

Sam’s footsteps are loud - helping Tommy identity him, trying not to frighten him - as he walks around, running the tap and Tommy already knows where this is going. 

Footsteps approach and Tommy blinks his eyes open to grab at the cup of water Sam holds out before he sinks to sit beside him, resting back against Steve. He sits close enough for Tommy to feel his body heat but far away enough that Tommy doesn’t feel trapped. 

He downs the whole cup and hands it back only for it to be swapped with a granola bar of some kind. Sam shrugs at his expression.

“Making sure you’re not hungry. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” 

Tommy blinks at him, loosely holding the bar in his hand before sighing, turning his face into white fur and closing his eyes again. Sam doesn’t move even as there are hushed voices below before creaks in the ladder tell Tommy his brothers have finally decided to join them. 

He instantly tenses and Sam leans closer to him, offering silent support. Tommy really wants to hate Sam, hate his easy love and loyalty. Once someone is considered family in Sam’s eyes, so long as that person tries, Sam is willing to travel to hell and back for them. 

It makes Tommy’s eyes start to water. He remembers when he used to care freely, heart on his sleeve. He remembers the love he gave to Phil, who saved him, to Wilbur, who raised him, to Techno, who protected him, to Tubbo, who loved him back. 

He remembers Phil leaving and Wilbur descending into madness and Techno’s grin as he built the withers and Tubbo sending him to exile without saying goodbye. 

“Uh,” Wilbur clears his throat and Tommy tries to tuck himself down, confused by the hesitant tone. Wilbur is many things but he’s never hesitant. He’s a forest fire, loud and bright. He’s a performer without stage fright. 

“What was that?” He asks and Tommy keeps his eyes closed, pressing back against Steve. Sam, thankfully, catches his drift, like he always does.

“I think Tommy had a panic attack,” Sam answers for him. “Or maybe the basement triggered a memory.” 

Wilbur clears his throat again. “And this happens a lot? You seem to know what to do.” 

“We all have bad days.” Sam responds, cagily, and Tommy wants to be back at Sam’s house, watching a Marvel movie or maybe the Hunger Games. 

“This seems like more than a bad day,” Techno huffs and Tommy’s done with staying silent. He blinks his eyes open to see Wilbur and Techno standing shoulder to shoulder, an intimidating line despite how far away they are. 

“You smash and kill shit when you have a bad day,” Tommy hisses, ignoring the wince. “Everywhere you’ve lived, there’s always a tree with slash marks. Wilbur’s bad days include blowing shit up. We’ve all seen both of your bad days and it’s in the form of the massive fucking crater that used to be my country.” 

They both flinch back and Sam shifts to press their shoulders together. A silent way to tell him to calm down, to breathe. He swallows and looks back to his hands, ignoring the way he can see the tiny scars, the calluses of learning to hold and use weapons. 

“Tommy,” Wilbur breathes and Tommy flinches before he can think, snapping his head up. Sam presses back and Tommy lets out a shaky exhale. “How long have you being dealing with this?”

They all know the answer. Everyone knows. Tommy remembers when he spoke to Wilbur in that in-between place, mentioning the wars, his exile. 

Wilbur had been different, speaking to him in a softer way, in an apologising way. He was calmer, less deranged. Tommy was able to see his brother, his real brother, under the face of the mad-man that destroyed everything. 

But of course, Wilbur had to ask about the other two times he was close to death. They’d already spoken, while Tommy and Tubbo were on the bench, listening to the newly recovered discs, about one of the times Tommy was close. The museum. 

Tommy didn’t want to explain the other time. The pole. The tower. Staring down at a blown-up Logstedshire, burns and abrasions littering his arms and chest and neck, already trying to heal from the lava and the other explosions and the beatings. Tommy was missing a shoe, his back was burning from Dream’s sword smacks and in that moment, he felt numb. 

Tubbo didn’t want him, Phil and Techno were ignoring him, laughing at him, Wilbur was dead and no one had come to his party. He was barred from the nether and no one could visit. 

He was alone, for the first time in years. The last time, he’d been on the streets, sleeping in doorways and using whatever he could steal to survive. He was alone and no one would care if he died. They didn’t back then. 

In that place, with Schlatt fighting off Mexican Dream in the background, Tommy had whispered about the pole, about understanding he was being watched, about jumping to water and running to Techno’s. Wilbur’s face had hardened and Tommy found himself in his older brother’s arms, Wilbur whispering that he was so sorry for letting Tommy deal with the fallout of his mistakes. 

Techno and Wilbur are still staring so Tommy has no choice but to respond, “awhile.” 

He had tried to hide it from them. It was so much easier pretending to be the brother they knew instead of the boy he’d become. 

“How bad do they get?” Wilbur continues and Tommy shrugs, looks to Sam, who calmly looks back at him. This isn’t something Sam is going to discuss if Tommy doesn’t want him to.

“Not bad, Big Man,” he breathes and looks back to his hands, to the granola bar. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence, only broken by Techno’s silent huff of, “I’m going to kill him.” 

Tommy immediately flinches, mistaking his brother’s words to mean about himself. He scrambles back into Steve, arms raising to hide his face, knees curling up to cover his torso. He knows what happens now and if he’s still and silent and hides the important parts, Dream won’t hurt him too badly-

“Tommy,” Sam breathes, quietly, calmly and Tommy blinks from behind the cage of his arms. “Can you look at me, please?” 

Slowly, Tommy lifts his eyes and Sam has moved to position himself in front of Tommy, his back to Techno and Wilbur. He’s still sitting, hands held on his knees and Tommy finds himself letting out a breath he’d been holding seeing that Wilbur and Techno are still far away. They won’t hurt him from that distance. Sam is blocking them. 

“Hey,” he says when Tommy meets his gaze. “Techno didn’t mean you, Tommy. You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you.”

When Tommy continues to blink at him, Sam’s adds a sizzle to his words that is oddly comforting. “I swear to you, Tommy, no one is going to hurt you here, okay?” 

He swallows and nods, slowly lowers his arms. When no one moves to seize the opportunity to attack him, he lowers his legs back out in front of him. Sam smiles at him like he’s proud and Tommy hesitantly smiles back.

“Do you want more water?” Sam asks and Tommy shakes his head, eyes lingering on Wilbur and Techno. “Do you want to go back home?” 

Tommy shakes his head again. “I’ve already caused trouble-“

“-Tommy-“

“-help finish off Tech’s extension.” Tommy finishes, drops his gaze to the granola bar. He doesn’t know when Sam’s house became his home, doesn’t know when he started to feel safe just being around Sam. 

His little dirt shack feels empty, now. The walls are too crowding and the memories of it leave Tommy nauseous. Sam’s house is always warm, always has a soft, warm light. There’s always food in the fridge and water in the tap and blankets available when Tommy wants to crash. Fran’s there, too, ready to give hugs if Tommy needs them. 

Under their stares, he feels small, weak. Tommy is made of stronger stuff, his bones have weathered death, his veins burn hot like lava, his heart pounds with the life inside of him. Tommy grew up on the streets, a wild, rabid thing with fangs for teeth and claws for fingers. He knew pain before he knew love. 

And when that was stripped from him, a baby bird being pushed from the nest with tiny wings barely able to hold him up, he could only return to that creature of anger, who had a burning will to survive. 

“Tom,” Sam says and he looks up subconsciously at the call. “Techno’s extension can wait.” 

Tommy shrugs. “M’okay. Help Techno.” 

Sam looks at him for a second and Tommy knows he won’t push, instead, he asks, “anything I can do? Anything you need?” 

Tommy shakes his head, presses back against Steve. “Can I- can I stay here with Steve?”

Sam smiles at him. “Of course, you can. You need anything, just shout, okay?” 

Tommy nods and Sam keeps the soft smile as he rises and straightens, turning to Wilbur and Techno, ushering them back downstairs. They’re down the ladder first and Tommy pauses to see Sam still, give him one last searching look before following them down. 

Tommy waits three seconds before impatience curls hot up in spine and he shuffles from Steve to rest by the ladder. He breathes slow and steady, keeping as silent and as still as possible. It doesn’t take long. 

“So,” Sam starts, voice floating up, soft but audible if Tommy strains, pressing his ear to the wood below. “You could maybe knock down that wall, maybe place a bathroom in here-“

“We’re not going to talk about what just happened?” Techno asks and Tommy hears a long sigh. 

“No, we’re not. Tommy doesn’t want to talk about it so we’re not going to talk about it.” Sam’s voice is strong and Tommy always forgets that under that smile is a bomb. 

Tommy can’t forget many things - even when he tries, when he drifts, when he pretends - the Wars, exile, those are ingrained in him. They are embedded in the marrow of his bones, nestled right in his ribcage, making it burn every time he breathes. But watching Sam lunge across for the Dreamon as strong arms - Wilbur’s, his big brother’s, his freshly alive and breathing big brother’s - pulled him back will never leave him. All he could do was scream as Phil’s sword impaled him - another person Tommy cares about dying by Phil’s sword - and a boom ricocheting around them. 

The death message had pinged all of their communicators and as Dream finally drew in a deep breath - Tommy didn’t like to think about the relief at that, Dream wasn’t his friend, he wasn’t - Tommy just about screamed himself raw. Ranboo had collapsed and Tubbo was like Tommy, held back by Fundy, tears streaming down his face. Techno had just stood there, standing in the crater unharmed and staring down at the green goo turning black. 

Tommy had fought out of Wilbur’s hold, thrashing like the wild thing he was and had sprinted all the way to Sam’s house, only to be met with a frantic Fran and an unconscious Sam on his bed. Tommy’s heart had stopped and restarted and he was gripping Sam so tightly, feeling him breathe but not wake. 

He swallows, tries to ignore the images flashing behind his eyes, as Wilbur pipes up, “he’s our brother, we deserve to know-“

“Do you?” Sam asks and it’s not harsh, not cruel but Tommy knows that they’re flinching. He doesn’t know when he started to put Sam at the top of his list of people he trusted, above Wilbur and Techno and Phil, but he’s there. 

“Sam.” Wilbur says, that dangerous edge to his voice and Tommy is back in the ravine, staring at his brother as he raves manically, giggling and shouting. “I don’t give a shit what you think of us as people but if there’s something going on, if there’s something we’re missing, we need to know.” 

There’s a long silence and Tommy holds his breath, waits for whatever Sam has to respond. Will he tell them? Will he mention something that Tommy doesn’t want him to? Will-

“Do you want them to know, Tommy?” Sam asks and Tommy reels back, freezing with his eyes wide. He keeps silent, praying that it’s somehow a strange joke or a mixup. It’s Sam. Of course, it’s not. “Tommy, I know you’ve been listening.”

Tommy groans, leans back against the wood of the wall, calls down, “you’re no fun.” 

There’s a huff of laughter. “Yeah, sure. You all say that when I beat you at Mario Kart. Do you want them to know?” 

Tommy thinks it over. There’s a part of him that still doesn’t trust them, that chills him to be with that trust. Trust like that leads to bruises and loneliness and the horrid stench of betrayal. 

But they’re his brothers. Wilbur is at least semi-normal now, back to the Wilbur before the revolution, only with more intensity to him, more flames in his eyes. And Techno hid him from Dream, even after Tommy used him as a weapon, went back on his word. Techno is trying with him. They both are. Even Phil is. 

So he swallows and shouts down, “sure as long as they’re not pussies about it!” 

More quiet huffs of laughter and then Sam calling back, “do you want to say it?” 

Tommy nods, quickly, before realising they can’t see. “Uh, sure, Big Man.” Pausing, he says quickly, “could you- please, could you stay down there?” 

He doesn’t want them to see him, doesn’t want them to see what he’s been reduced to. Anyway, the feral part of him used to the streets, used to survival, likes the distance between them. It gives Tommy a head start if he wants to bolt. 

“Sure,” Sam says and Tommy nods, leans back further into the wall and waits as Sam clears his throat and continues. “Before we do this: have any of you actually spoken to each other about the things that have happened when I’m not here?”

“We speak,” Wilbur defends. 

Techno snorts. “Not about anything important. Everyone gets touchy and Phil’s always worried things are going to get broken.” 

“Maybe because you start whacking trees like a fucking maniac when you’re pissed.” Wilbur snaps and Tommy sighs. 

“We don’t speak,” Tommy says, glad to get it off his chest and the house falls silent. “If we start speaking, how are we suppose to deal with the fact that most of our fucking problems come from each other?” 

A deafening silence fills the house and Tommy turns to look outside at the snow. The quiet unsettles him, reminds him of tents and the ocean, of waiting by a portal for a figure in a green hoodie to appear, of a yellow sweater and blue pooling from a grey mouth. 

He wonders when he started associating common, everyday things with danger, with solitude, with death. Maybe it was as early as the streets, feet always cold and hands already scarred. Maybe it was during the Antarctic Empire, during howling winds and snow up to his waist, too much space, too much silence. Maybe it was the Wars, the Exile, Dream, pain and fear and blood following him constantly like a shadow he could never lose, not even in the dark, as instead of melting away, it instead would surround him, choking him, leaving him blind. 

Or maybe, just maybe, Tommy’s genes are embedded with residual trauma. Maybe it’s always been there. Maybe that’s why he was abandoned, why he continues to be abandoned. Wherever he goes, death follows. 

A sharp bang echoes from the room and he flinches as the door slams open beside him. Phil sweeps him, wings curling up at his back, hand gripping his green hat. The door slams shut behind him. 

“Hey, mate,” he says to him before nodding at the polar bear in the room. “Steve. Do you happen to-

“Phil?” Techno calls and Phil blinks from Tommy to the ladders, leaning over to look down at where Techno should be. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for a couple of days?”

Phil shrugs, frowns at him. “The winds were good. Why’re you down there?” 

“We’re having a therapy session, Phil, curtsey of our resident creeper, Sam.” Wilbur shouts and Phil raises his eyebrows at Tommy, who tries to shuffle back into the wall. 

“Are we?” He says and Tommy smiles at him, hesitantly. He knows Phil won’t hurt him, knows it like he knows Sam wouldn’t, but all he can see is Phil standing with a burnt and broken wing, clutching a bloody Wilbur as his sword pierced him. 

“Supposedly,” Sam says, and there’s an odd, dangerous edge to it, “instead of discussing with each other how to heal, you’ve decided to collectively ignore the problems and have brushed them all under the rug.” 

Phil keeps looking at Tommy and he draws his knees up, uncomfortable. He knows Phil won’t hurt him, he knows but he can’t shake the fear stirring in his stomach, flipping it, leaving him breathless. 

“Come down and we can talk,” Sam continues when the silence stretches between them. Phil spends a second blinking down the ladder before sighing. “Tommy had a panic attack so we’re talking it through.” 

“Are you okay?” Phil questions with concern and Tommy nods. Phil carefully ruffles Tommy’s hair, his wings curling tight against his back as he climbs down and says, “alright, mate. Any particular reason why I’m coming to you?”

“Tommy wants the room to himself to breathe,” Sam says and Tommy hears the distinct sound of his boots - leaving in a snow biome means his sandals are useless - hitting the concrete below. 

Then, nothing. Outside, the wind blows a storm and Tommy faces the eerie expanse of white snow. Inside, the house creaks but no one speaks, no one seems to even move. 

Tommy looks to the snow and wonders if the ice started spreading inside of him back during the Antarctic Empire, when the halls were so open and large, it was easy to get lost. Maybe that’s when Phil began to grow even more distant, when Wilbur had to step up to raise both him and Fundy. 

He remembers the chill, up atop the tower, the wind brushing against him like brief touches of comfort. He remembers looking at the lava and missing the frost of snow and ice. Both times, he’d thought of Phil’s wings and wondered if he jumped, would he fly but he knew the answer. Not even Phil could save him if he jumped when he didn’t have wings. 

“Tommy?” Sam calls and he straightens. “Would you like to start?” 

Tommy sighs, reminds himself no one can hurt him and mutters just loud enough, “I have panic attacks, sometimes. A lot of times. I don’t know, they just happen and sure, I could describe why they happen ‘cause I’m not fucking stupid, I know what triggers them and shit but most of the time, they just happen. Someone says shit or moves too quickly or even a fucking smell and then, panic attack. Like fucking buttons-“

He hisses and takes a deep breath, hits his head against the wall. “Fucking buttons, man. Lava. Someone taking my armour. Someone yelling. When someone’s too nice to me. Small spaces. Anything really to do with Logstedshire.” 

It’s quiet for a moment and then Wilbur mutters, “and the basement?” 

Tommy closes his eyes, seeing himself clutching the blanket close to his chin, shivering and shaking as he hears Techno’s footsteps above him. The burns from the explosions had stung against the soft fabric and he had cried then, sobbing quietly into the pillow, surrounded by stolen things, wondering when he’d be stolen back. 

“Reminds me of hiding from Dream, from Techno, thinking about when they’d both find me.” He says at last and absently runs a finger under then bandages across his arms, hidden by his long sleeve t-shirt. Tough, healing skin rubs against he pad of his finger and he sighs. 

“You really thought I’d sell you out,” Techno breathes and Tommy snorts. 

“In your words, I should’ve died like a hero. I was fully prepared for an ‘I told you so’ if you found me after being abandoned by the government.” Tommy draws his knees tighter to his chest. “And anyway, you and Dream are- were fucking friends. We weren’t on the best of terms. What was I to think? That after all this time, big brother has finally decided to fucking care about me?” 

“I do care about you-“ Techno tries to say but Tommy shakes his head. 

“No, you don’t. To you, we’re not even related. I’m just a kid, who should’ve died like a hero when my other brother blew up our country.”

“Tommy-“ Wilbur starts and Tommy sniffles, rubs his hand across his face. His hands have started to shake and he knows his voice is wavering.

“I never wanted to be a fucking hero!” He hisses, holding himself like it will somehow stop the breakdown he can see rapidly approaching. “I never wanted this! I just wanted you. I wanted us to be a family again but no, no, I have to be this fucking child soldier, I have to watch my country burn and my brothers lose it and my dad stab my brother. I have to be punished for your crimes! And instead of stepping in and helping, you all just laugh at me.” 

The sob claws it’s way out of his throat and he shudders. “I was alone and fucking scared and in so much pain and you all just laughed at me. But it’s fine, right? ‘Cause we’re not actually family and I’m old enough to know what to do so it doesn’t matter, does it? I have to learn my lesson, right? To you, I’m just Theseus, my fate is already set in stone.” 

Quietly, Sam calls up, “do you want someone to come up there, Tommy?” 

He violently shakes his head and hastily mutters, panic curling in his stomach, “no, no, no. I’m good. I’m fine. Please, don’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

“Tommy,” Sam says and he pauses from wiping his tears. “You don’t have to apologise for anything, okay? We won’t come up if you don’t want us to.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He takes a deep breath, trying to get as much oxygen into his lungs as the panic tightens around his neck before dissipating when he doesn’t hear the sound of an approach. 

Of course, his brief moment of ease is the calm before the storm. 

“Toms,” Wilbur says, voice oddly hoarse, “you know I can never stop apologising for what I put you through. I should’ve- I was suppose to protect you-“

“No, Wil, you weren’t.” Phil interrupts and his voice is also odd, tight. “I was suppose to do that. I should’ve protected all of you and I didn’t, I walked away because it was easier than being a proper father.” 

“Phil, you did more than anyone else in our lives,” Techno tells him and Tommy is thrown once again by how strange his voice has become. It’s strained.

“I should’ve done more, Tech. Giving you a home and food is the bare minimum. I should’ve been there to watch you all grow up. I should’ve been there when you came here to make sure you were alright. I should’ve stepped in more.” 

“And not picked favourites,” Wilbur mutters, harshly and Techno huffs but Phil hums in agreement. 

“I’m sorry about that. I know what I do won’t change the past but I am truly sorry about that, Wil, Tommy.” 

In the cool ravine, pressed against the rock as Wilbur raved, Tommy imagined Phil descending down to save him. Sitting in the tent, crawling from the sea every morning, choking on sea water and his own tears, Tommy would see wings and pray for Phil. Pushing Tubbo behind him as he faced Dream in that museum, Tommy wanted nothing more than Phil to show up and place himself in front of them both, protecting them. 

But he never did. No one ever stepped in. Tommy has lost and lost and lost again. A cycle he can’t seem to break. 

Tommy can feel tears in his eyes again and he hiccups, “I just wanted my dad.” 

There’s a harsh inhale and then, “Toms, can I-“

“Please.” 

In seconds, Phil is up the ladders and is pulling Tommy into his chest. Tommy melts into the embrace, shuddering as wings encircle him, sobbing into Phil’s shoulder. Tommy aches with the warmth of Phil’s arms, hands gripping Phil’s shirt so tightly, his fingers start to hurt. 

A part of him heals, a wound once infected now being wrapped. Phil is here and maybe he wasn’t before, but he is now. He’s here and he’s holding Tommy like he’s important, like he matters. 

Tommy is strong. He’s weathered the streets, the Wars, the exiles, the deaths. Every time he was hit down, he stood back up and sure, pieces of him were chipped away, fracturing but not beyond repair. Sam has shown him that as he builds him from the ground up. 

Sam has discovered the missing puzzle pieces of Tommy’s very being and has fitted them carefully back into place. Tommy eats properly now, has learnt that asking won’t be met with a fist but with a smile, knows that if he needs something, Sam is more than willing to help him get it. 

But Tommy can’t always be strong. As much as he loathes to admit it, he’s still a child that has seen too much. His past is paved in blood. There are days, much like this one, that he can’t survive by himself. He needs someone to pull him back from the edge, someone to hold him and tell him that everything’s going to be alright. 

It used to be Wilbur before his downfall. Then it was Tubbo before he turned his back on Tommy. Then, with bile crawling up his throat, it was Dream before Tommy ran and never looked back.

Sam, unlike the others, has yet to walk away, dissolve into madness, raise his fists. He is constant in Tommy’s life, a force of calmness and care. His arms are open and his words are always careful and warm. 

Tommy wants to hate him for it but he can’t. 

“I know my role in your life has been given to someone else,” Phil breathes in his neck and Tommy realises he’s crying, too, “and I won’t fight him on it. You deserve someone better than me. But I want you- I need you to know that you’ll always be my son, okay? I’ll always love you like a son.” 

Tommy tries to bury himself against Phil. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as creaks behind him mean that more people are climbing up the ladder, “I’m sorry that it can’t be you.” 

Because it’s not anymore. Tommy and Tubbo both look at Sam like a big brother, like a father figure. Blood doesn’t matter when it comes to love. 

“Please don’t apologise when the reasonings are all my fault,” Phil says. “I should’ve been there, for you, for all of us but I wasn’t. I’m so proud of you for surviving without me, without us, and finding someone who will look after you.” 

The praise burns at Tommy and he sniffles again, pressing his face into Phil’s shoulder. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Wilbur mutters behind him, “I’m really fucking proud of you, too. I- I can’t apologise for not wanting to be here but I am sorry for leaving you alone. I should’ve never let the green bastard mess with my head. I should’ve fought harder for you.” 

Tommy lifts his head, turns to meet Wilbur’s bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you-“

“No one could’ve, Toms. That’s all on me. You have nothing to apologise when it comes to my fragile mental health.” Wilbur laughs brokenly and Phil detaches his arms from Tommy to tug Wilbur closer. 

“Part of that’s on me. I should’ve checked in more, I should’ve followed you here. And even if you begged for it, I should’ve spoken more than just...” Phil trails off but they all know what he’s referring to, the image of Phil holding a dead Wilbur, sword through his chest, permanently burned into Tommy’s mind. 

Tommy blinks from their embrace and looks to Techno, who’s awkwardly got his eyes firmly on the blizzard happening outside. His natural crimson eyes hide any emotion but Tommy can see the tremble in his hands, the strain around his eyes and mouth. He’s trying to fight it. 

For a second, Tommy considers letting Techno have his own moment, let him draw back his control. It would be easier but Tommy’s already been more than vulnerable today and Sam’s watching him with a smile and he decides it’s better to try and bridge that gap between them instead of ignoring him. 

Clearing his throat, he steps closer to Techno, who cautiously looks at him. Without the pig skull and the braid, he looks more like Technoblade, his older brother than Technoblade, the Blood God. As much as it makes him want to laugh, like this, Techno looks almost soft, with his long pink hair and his baggy clothes. 

“I blamed you for Wilbur’s shit, for showing up and turning on me even when you did exactly what you said you were going to do. I’ve been unnecessarily cruel to you and I want to tell you that it’s because you deserve it but that would be a lie. A massive fucking lie.” 

He takes a deep breath, swallows and looks out of the window. “The truth is- the truth is, I’ve always admired you. You’ve always been this distant figure, even in our childhood, and I get why you wouldn’t want to be associated with us but the thing is, you came to help. During Pogtopia, I thought, ‘thank fuck, finally someone who can help.’ But Wilbur didn’t change and L’Manberg was still blown up and you released the withers-“

“I told you-“ Techno goes to speak and Tommy holds up his hand, shakes his head to cut him off. 

“I know you did. I’m not- I’m over it now. I think, anyway. What I’m trying to say before I was rudely fucking interrupted,” he sends a quick glare before looking back out the window, “is that I thought you were the problem. That day was fucking insane and Wilbur was dead and I couldn’t blame him and Phil was far away so I couldn’t blame him but you were there. You taunted me and I guess, I guess I wanted someone so badly to blame that I reasoned it had to be you.” 

He drops his gaze to his hands, his scarred hands. “I know it wasn’t your fault and you’re right, you did tell me but it doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to feel hurt by it. We should’ve never put a government back in but I trusted you, man, and even though I betrayed you first, you still betrayed me.” 

There’s a long exhale and then Techno is reaching across to hold Tommy’s shoulder, gently. “I know and I can’t say I didn’t warn you but maybe I should’ve waited until the dust had settled. As much as I enjoyed it, I’m sorry that I blew up L’Manberg with Dream and released those withers.” 

Tommy shrugs and says, “thank you for hiding me from him in the first place. I shouldn’t have- I never meant to side with Tubbo when we were at the community house but I hadn’t seen him in so long and fuck, man, I missed him and Dream was there and my head was fucked-“ 

He cuts himself off, runs a hand across his face and then finally looks up at Techno. His big brother with his pink hair and crimson eyes. 

“You are a person, Tech, just like I am. I’m not going to apologise for what I said because if I didn’t have the discs, Dream would still have his hold over me but I- you’re not just the Blade, okay? Not in my eyes. I think it’s just that you’ve saved me so many times now, I forget that you’re not just this wall between me and the world. You have emotions too, even if you try to hide them.” 

Techno gives him a shaky smile. “I have no idea what you mean by that, Tommy. Technoblade doesn’t experience useless things such as emotions.” 

Wilbur scoffs and Phil laughs. Tommy rolls his eyes and does what he’s been looking forward to for a very long time. He lunges at Techno when he turns to look at Phil and wraps his arms around his big brother. Tommy finds it hilarious how Techno immediately tenses, freezing in place like he’s expecting a knife to the ribs. Tommy doesn’t mind. He understands that his brother is a little touchy when it comes to contact-

Strong arms slowly wrap around his back and Tommy sighs, blowing pink hair away from his face. Shutting his eyes, he presses against Techno and allows himself to ignore the itchness of so much contact - Sam and him are working on his clear touch starvation and aversion; it’s a slow process but Sam doesn’t care if Tommy clings to him or keeps a metre away so it’s good. 

Techno whispers, “I’m really proud of you, too, okay? For surviving, for getting through all of this. I forget, sometimes, that you’re just this annoying kid and not like me, not a warrior. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, I am a warrior... but thank you.”

“Chat, this doesn’t make me soft, shut up,” Techno hisses and Tommy snorts a laugh at the voices. 

“You kinda are, Big T.” He coos and Techno huffs, clearly annoyed but stays. It’s really nice. Until Wilbur and Phil realise Tommy has Techno exactly where he wants him. 

Wilbur gasps and hisses, “group hug!” 

Even as Techno tenses again, suddenly there are more arms wrapping around Tommy, along with a set of wings. Wilbur and Phil join, pressing in and Tommy is a little overwhelmed but it’s comforting. He’s warm and content in their arms, feeling like a piece of him that was missing is slotting back into place. 

When he finally blinks his eyes open, he looks over Phil’s head to see Sam leaning back against the wall, a soft smile on his face. They share a look, of understanding, of a healthy dose of fear for this to all crumble between their fingertips, and of happiness. 

Tommy isn’t healed, not completely. He doubts he ever will be. But he’s in their arms - his big brothers’, his dad’s - and he’s warm. He’s with his family. 

“So, Tech,” he says and Techno once again tenses at Tommy’s tone. “Where are the gapples?” 

Techno instantly pulls away, loudly complaining of his raccoon tendencies while Phil leans over to breathe as he laughs. Wilbur grins at Tommy, immediately backing him as he rushes the chests to rifle through them. 

“Steve! Bite him!” Techno snaps and the polar bear doesn’t even look up as Wilbur starts throwing random items at Tommy. He catches them and decides he doesn’t want the melon slices but he’ll take the potions of invisibility. 

“Phil,” Techno groans. “Tell them to stop!” 

Phil just laughs, brushes their shoulders together and says, “I think they’ve got you beat, mate.” 

As Wilbur begins to bicker with them, Tommy turns to Sam, who’s watching the whole ordeal with a fond smile. He approaches and hands him a gapple. Sam raises his eyebrows but takes the golden fruit and tucks it into his bag. 

“Thank you,” he whispers and Sam smiles at him, reaches to ruffle his hair. 

“Anytime, Tom. Are you going to actually eat the granola bar?” 

Tommy snorts, holds up another gapple and takes a bite, feeling the enchantment sizzle through his veins. “Stolen goods taste better.” 

Sam laughs as Techno continues to complain in the background, Phil holding his hands out for Wilbur to drop Techno’s items into. Tommy smiles despite the fear and lingering panic, he’s happy. He’s with his family. 

It’s a little messy, a little broken and bruised but it’s healing. Tommy’s healing. That’s really all that matters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned :D 
> 
> As for the current canon streams... I don’t know her... I do not see.... 
> 
> We have a wee bit of plot today but don’t fear, after the streams, this is going to firmly stay where no one permanently dies :) 
> 
> TW// swearing, mentions of death, mentions of violence and suicidal thoughts, drug mentions, mental health discussions 
> 
> ENJOY!!

When he was a child, he remembers hearing his parents call him their little sunshine. With a bright smile and his obsession with the colour yellow and his natural hot body temperature, the nickname was a given. He never used to get cold, not even when he was in the Antarctic Empire.

Now, freshly alive with blood back in his veins, Wilbur can’t seem to get warm. 

The fingerless gloves are practically glued to his hands, he’s wearing two layers of socks and underneath his sweater he has one long sleeve t-shirt and under that, a short sleeve one. Plus his coat and boots and beanie. Somehow, even as he sits on his bed in the basement of Techno’s house, wrapped in three blankets and campfire burning hot, linked to the main fire three floors up, Wilbur hasn’t stopped shaking from the chill.

The cold has settled in his bones, leaving him frozen solid. Wilbur wonders how hard his teeth have to chatter before they shatter in his mouth. Maybe he’ll pass out before that or he’ll simply succumb to the hypothermia his body has deluded itself into believing he has.

Wilbur eyes the fire. Would sticking his hands in the flames finally heat him up or will he dissolve into ash once the burns rip across his skin? He considers this before sighing. He couldn’t make the distance even if he wanted to. If he moves now, he’s sure any heat he’s somehow holding onto will leave. So he sits and tries to stay awake even as his body shudders violently. 

Ever since he came back to life, he’s not felt heat in his veins. He’s practically a breathing ice cube. He’s tried to speak to the others about it to see if it’s something that simply coming back to life gives but they don’t seem to agree. Tommy doesn’t feel any different, Schlatt simply laughed when he asked and Mexican Dream, in a surprising turn of events, held Wilbur’s hands in his own and gave some philosophical advice that being alive was wrong and so death had latched onto Wilbur’s soul to pull him back to the land of the dead. Wilbur had blinked at him as in the next breath, Mexican Dream had handed him a bag of pills and then left to hound a sober Schlatt. 

Still, Wilbur couldn’t stop the chill and briefly debated speaking to Dream before shaking that thought out of his skull. If he saw Dream, he’d kill him. Especially after what Tommy spoke about: his panic attacks, his fear. Wilbur can sit at Sam’s weekly dinner nights and ignore the urge to break the man’s face but he doesn’t think he could actually speak to him. 

Another chill crawls up his spine and Wilbur winces, tucks his face further into the blanket wrapped around his head. The way he’s shaking, he’d believe he’s still dead. Even if those memories are somewhat distant. 

He remembers brief moments of existing by being Ghostbur. The blue, Friend, watching Techno’s execution, Tommy’s first few days in exile. He doesn’t remember his supposed talks with Phil, with Dream sending him off after taking the invites for the Beach Party, with Fundy about his adoption. His memories as Ghostbur are very shaky, all distorted images instead of a solid one. It hurts, sometimes, if he tries to force the memories. 

But he can still remember the way his body could drift through walls, the way his wound would sometimes bleed blue if he thought too hard, the way he couldn’t ever tell if the area was hot or cold. His body was always cold. 

He shuffles slightly, trying to get friction in his limbs but the cold has settled and he almost laughs at the thought of Techno or Phil, or even Tommy, finding him frozen solid in his bed. He can’t understand why he’s not warm. The room has a fire, he has so many layers on him. He should be warm. 

Fear curls in his stomach. Is this how he descends into madness again? Is this how he loses himself? Wilbur has been trying to distance himself, in fear that he will become the mad man he once was. Tommy and Fundy won’t let him, though. Every time he refuses to message back or interact, one of them will show up and demand his attention. 

As he shivers, he desperately hopes one of them senses his need for them. Maybe this is his punishment for L’Manberg. Maybe his death won’t be as poetic and instead unremarkable.

Footsteps sound above and he hears the telltale creak of the ladder signifying the descent of Technoblade. His silent wishes heard. Wilbur tries to right himself, to make it look like he isn’t losing feeling in his toes and fingertips but every movement leaves him aching. 

“Wil, I was thinking we could go and- are you okay?” Techno stares at him and Wilbur can barely summon the energy to smile at him. 

“Yeah, man, just a bit chilly.” 

Techno reaches across and places the back of his hand on Wilbur’s forehead and without conscious thought, Wilbur falls into the blinding heat. Techno and his naturally hot body temperature, designed for the nether. Wilbur melts and is met with strong arms grabbing him - more heat, more warmth, he can feel himself thaw - holding him against Techno. 

“You’re more than chilly, Wilbur, you’re freezing.” 

Wilbur hums in the back of his throat, eyes slipping shut as he flexes his fingers against Techno’s back. He’s so warm and the ice from his veins lessens. 

“How long have you been like this?” He asks and Wilbur starts to panic when he pulls back so Techno stills, allowing the contact. “Wilbur, start talking before I message Phil.” 

Wilbur huffs. “The ‘I’ll get dad’ schtick doesn’t work anymore, Tech. It stopped working on my eighteenth.” 

A moment of silence and then, “I’ll message Sam.” 

Wilbur wants to laugh but the sound gets lodged in his throat. When did Sam become so integral to their family unit? When did he start solving the problems they didn’t even realise they had?

“I’m just really cold,” he says and Techno sighs and then shifts. 

“C’mon.” He slowly pulls Wilbur, blankets and all, away from his bed and towards the fire, where a couch and some chairs sit. It’s a difficult and slow process because every time Techno moves an inch away, Wilbur whimpers, even if he’ll deny the noise until the day he dies. He’s just so cold and Techno is so warm. He can’t lose the contact in fear he’ll be left an ice cube. 

After some manoeuvring, Techno gets Wilbur and his blankets to the fire. The ice is melting and Wilbur finds that he’s no longer breathing in icicles. He sighs, face still buried in Techno’s neck and it shows how worried Techno must be for him to not instantly draw away. 

“I think I’m going to message them anyway.” Techno says and Wilbur can’t even muster the energy to fight him, to argue. 

“Are the voices concerned about my safety?” He whispers and Techno sighs. 

“Not to come off- I’m not trying to be offensive, Wilbur, but they have a right to be concerned when you’re as cold as a corpse.”

Wilbur can’t help but laugh, the sound broken and raw. “I’m aware, Tech. I’m fucking aware.” 

Techno shifts Wilbur’s weight so he’s tucked in his arms as he quickly pings off a message to Phil or Sam, or whomever Techno needs. Wilbur doesn’t really care: he’s warm, something he hasn’t been in a long time. 

“Do you remember,” Wilbur breathes into his brother’s neck, “when we got lost, that one time, in that tundra? We were on our way back home when the storm hit and we were stranded. I probably would’ve died if you didn’t find that cave.” 

Techno huffs. “Why are we discussing the times you almost died while you feel like you are dying?” 

Wilbur smiles. “Do you not remember what I said? No? You were trying to get a fire started and I was curled around you - your fucking body temperature is like literal lava, by the way - and you were trying to keep me awake, so you kept asking me these questions-“

“I’m well aware of the need to kept someone conscious when sleeping could lead to their death, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur shakes his head, keeps the smile. “Neither of us remembered our birthday, Tech. I’d only been with you and Phil for six months so I hadn’t lied about a date. So you gave me the day Phil had found you and I called you my twin.” 

Techno holds him tighter. “And just like last time, you’re babbling. Please, don’t actually die on me. I’m pretty sure Tommy would kill me. Maybe even Schlatt. How are you two even friends after what happened?” 

“Stop trying to ask me questions to keep me awake. I know your plan, man, I just told you about it.” 

Techno shrugs. “I’m actually curious about Schlatt. The last time you were alive together, you were at each other’s throats.” 

Wilbur sighs. How can he possibly explain that their friendship was real, only to crumble alongside Schlatt’s ego and Wilbur’s mental health? How can he explain the relief of dying only to see Schlatt standing over his body, laughing? 

Wilbur had awoken and Schlatt had nearly wet himself at the fact they would have to spend eternity trapped together. At the time, they gave each other a corner of the void they were in and agreed to never speak to one another. 

But the loneliness of being in the plain was exhausting and in the end, they were drawn to each other. Days were spent screaming at each other, starting fights only to realise they never ended up bleeding. Days were also spent sitting together, coming up with games to play and ways to pass the time. 

Through that, Wilbur found they could shift the plain from endless grey to a field and Schlatt immediately found a way to gain his whiskey and a pack of cards. It was easier then, simpler. The burning hatred was quelled into something of understanding. At the end of the day, they both wanted power and they both died because of it. 

“The endless void leaves lots of time for discussions, Tech. What could we do to each other that hadn’t already been done? We were dead.” 

Techno inclines his head like he’s listening but doesn’t stop the contact. Wilbur presses forward, feels the blood rush back into his fingers and toes. Warmth floods his veins and he sighs, happily. 

Of course, the respite with Schlatt was quickly overturned when Mexican Dream tumbled into the fray and Wilbur began to catch glimpses of the server through Ghostbur’s eyes. Schlatt spent most of his days hounded by Mexican Dream as Wilbur watched his little brother be sent into exile. He’d been terrified, trying to find a way to speak to him, to reach him but Ghostbur was a spirit of intangible limbs and desires. He cared about blue and good memories: exile wasn’t pleasant and Wilbur rarely got to see anything. 

Then he felt the doors briefly open as the void opened it’s arms for another being, only for it to abruptly slam shut. Tommy’s soul, close to death, only to be pulled back. Fear had coiled in Wilbur’s stomach as he waited for the inevitable but then, nothing. 

Jack Manifold had briefly crashed through only to be pulled downwards and disappear. Wilbur had frowned but it seemed like only days passed when he felt Tommy’s soul again, along with Tubbo’s. He’d been terrified, spending days in the field, staring at the place Tommy would appear only for him to, thankfully, never show.

Wilbur had briefly spoken to him, after the failed resurrection with Phil when both Schlatt and Wilbur were transported to Ghostbur’s spirit form. He’d told him how proud he was and then he left, back to the field. 

Wilbur had nearly vomited, even if that wasn’t possible in the void, when he approached the field to find Tommy lying in the middle of the flowers, blood staining his clothes and skin. He remembered dropping to his knees and sobbing, clutching Tommy with reckless abandon. His little brother was here. His little brother was here and that only meant one thing: his little brother was dead. All three lives gone. 

They’d spoken a lot: Tommy apologising for the tower, Wilbur resoluting making the decision to attack Dream if he ever had the chance but Tommy didn’t mention exile or the Wars. They simply spoke around the subjects until he found himself, along with Tommy, Schlatt and Mexican Dream thrown into the middle of a forest, a seizing, bleeding Dream beside them. 

Wilbur is pulled from his memories when Techno quietly asks, “do you ever regret what you did?” 

Wilbur wants to pull back to see his face but he fears he will freeze if he moves. “You know that I do.” 

“I know you didn’t mean for the fallout to be the way that it was but do you actually regret it? I know you weren’t really... there but Wilbur, you were laughing, you were having the time of your life. I certainly don’t regret releasing the withers or blowing up L’Manberg. I do regret it being with Dream.” 

Wilbur sighs, thinks it over. Techno, for someone lacking in expressing his own emotions, sure knows the emotions of others. He’s not exactly wrong.

“I regret listening to Dream,” Wilbur starts. “I regret not fighting it. I regret accepting the decline in my mental health and doing nothing to fucking stop it. I regret leaving Tommy and Fundy to fight for themselves.” 

“But you don’t regret blowing L’Manberg up or getting Phil to kill you?” 

Wilbur sighs. “L’Manberg was founded on something good, something pure, something treasured, even if it was from the back of a drug van. What it became, what it was turned into, wasn’t what Tommy and I founded. It became a chess piece in Dream’s game of manipulation and I thought, even in my state, that if it was gone, the people would be safer.” 

He shifts his weight slightly and tightens his hold on Techno as he breathes, “I hated what I’d become, Tech, but I loved it, the power, the manipulation. If L’Manberg was going down, it was only fitting that I’d join it. Poetic justice. Phil came at the wrong time. I was supposed to die in the explosion but-“

Wilbur swallows and nearly chokes. Phil had appeared like a saviour, wrapping his wings around Wilbur to protect him. It had burnt in a delicious way, an addictive way and Wilbur had loved his brush with death. He was hell-bent on dying, not caring for the people left behind and Phil was there, with his trusted sword and Wilbur had begged until the sword pierced his chest and his blood had mixed with the ash of L’Manberg. 

Techno moves and Wilbur is about to hastily wipe his tears and accept that his personal heater is about to leave but Techno only pulls him closer, tighter. Wilbur buries his face in Techno’s neck and the man grips him like his life depends on it. 

“I know I’ve said this before,” Techno says, gruffly, “but if you ever feel like that again, tell me. Just tell me.”

Wilbur sniffles, tucks himself under his chin and takes a deep breath. He’s safe here and he’s finally warm. The continuous heat has his eyelids dropping shut, his body leaning more heavily against Techno’s body, which, due to the muscle, is like resting against a wall but Wilbur’s content here, in his pseudo-twin’s arms. 

“I’m scared of becoming that person again,” he whispers and Techno squeezes him. 

“I won’t let you. Tommy and Phil and Fundy and Tubbo won’t let you. Sam certainly isn’t going to let you.” Techno says, and with added conviction, mutters, “I promise you, Wilbur, you’re not going to become him again.” 

“Thank you,” Wilbur murmurs. He’s still worried. That fear won’t be replaced because of kind words but he knows Techno, knows his brother keeps his word like nobody’s business. Wilbur has faith that if he can’t protect himself, Techno will gladly step in.

He’s barely started to drift when he hears a slam and startles, careening back. With sharp reflexes, Techno catches him before he ends up face-first in the fire. With the flames licking close to his nose, he no longer wants to find out what his skin would feel like if he pushed his hand into the flickering light. 

“Wilbur?” He hears a shout and briefly shoots a panicked look to Techno. “Wil?”

“You didn’t.” Wilbur huffs and Techno just smirks as scuffling from the ladder sounds and a figure drops to the concrete. Orange tufts of hair next to pointed, orange ears and Wilbur turns just as Fundy throws himself forward, gripping Wilbur with shaking hands. 

“Dad?” He whimpers, raises a hand to press his fingers against Wilbur’s throat, checking for a pulse. Wilbur detaches his arms from Techno - he already misses the heat - and curls them around his son, who’s sniffling into his neck. Tucking his chin on Fundy’s head, he drags a hand across his back, humming softly. 

“I’m okay, Funds. Breathe with me, okay? In. Out. In. Out. Good, very good.” 

“I thought- I didn’t- you’re alive.” Fundy murmurs and Wilbur shoots Techno a raised eyebrow glare. 

“Yeah, I am.” Behind Fundy, Wilbur watches as more people start to filter in, dropping to the concrete below. “Did Techno imply something different?” 

“He said you felt like Ghostbur.” Tommy comments, reaching over and brushing his fingers across Wilbur’s skin before snapping his hand away, frowning, head tilting. “He’s not wrong. You’re fucking freezing, man. What the fuck?” 

Phil, behind Tommy, places the back of his hand on Wilbur’s forehead and also frowns, wings twitching. “Why’re you so cold, mate?” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “If I knew, don’t you think I would’ve tried to not be?” 

Phil rolls his eyes back and Techno stands, asking, “do you think it’s the left over of coming back to life? That’s gotta mess with the body somehow.”

“I don’t feel cold, Big T. Maybe I’m like immune or something.” Tommy shrugs when they all, bar Fundy, who is still clutching Wilbur, look over at him. 

“Or maybe you weren’t dead long enough.” Phil says and then winces. “I didn’t-“

Tommy laughs as Techno snorts. “I get it, man. You want me gone, right? I’ve never done anything wrong and you’re being so cruel, old man. I’m going to purposefully pass out in the snow when I leave so that you have to rescue me now.” 

“Sure, sure. You do that and I’ll leave you there, you fucking gremlin.” Phil rolls his eyes and looks to Wilbur as Tommy splutters in the background. “Do you know if Schlatt feels this?” 

“Or Mexican Dream!” Tommy snaps.

Wilbur shrugs. “Schlatt laughed me off and Mexican Dream told me that death had latched onto my soul before giving me ecstasy to stop the pain.” 

Tommy giggles and Phil and Techno share a look. 

“You don’t think...” Phil breathes and Techno looks away, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, most of the times when you kill someone, Phil, they stay dead. That’s kinda the point of killing them.” 

Fundy pulls his head back and blinks at them, ears pressing back against his skull. “What are two on about?” 

Even Tommy’s quiet as they all stare at Phil and Techno, who both refuse to meet their gazes. Wilbur stares hard, letting what Sam referred to as his ‘deranged stare’ bleed through. It is all fire and insanity paired with a dangerous lift of his lips and Phil takes one look and sighs. 

“You know the Angel of Death name,” Phil mutters and they all nod. The three of them grew up on stories of Philza Minecraft, his wings and dangerous way with a sword, his ability to live so long on a single life wherever he went. Even with Dream switching the lives back to infinite on his server, Wilbur can’t help be wonder if somehow Phil is still on that one life. 

“You know how I got it from Kristin-“

“The Samsung Smart Fridge!” Wilbur cheers and Techno rolls his eyes as Tommy chortles behind him. “Love a good bit of mumza.” 

“She would’ve thrown you to the wolves for that comment,” Techno huffs and Wilbur frowns at him. None of them have ever met her but the stories from Phil are enough to understand what she was like.

“You take that back before I throw you to the wolves.” 

“Boys,” Phil says and then runs a hand across his face. “Look, you know how I said that the reason I have rings on a necklace is because I had a wife and-“

“You told us she was a fridge.” Tommy says, shrugs. “We remember, man. When your adoptive father tells you he fucked a fridge, you tend to remember shit like that.”

Techno stares at Tommy. “You do realise he didn’t actually do that, right? Please tell me you did not spend like four years of your life thinking that.”

Tommy narrows his eyes. “He fucked a fridge, Techno. Why would he lie about something so fucking weird?”

“You’re forgetting that Wilbur only mentions Sally as a salmon,” Fundy mutters and Wilbur sighs as Techno points at Fundy in agreement. Tommy simply shakes his head. 

“No offence, Fundy, but you’re a fox. It would make more sense if Sally was a salmon instead of a shapeshifter.” 

Techno turns from Tommy to look between Wilbur and Fundy. “Where did the fox genes come from?” 

Wilbur can feel his ears burn red and he immediately looks to Phil, who’s watching the display with interested, amused eyes. Unfortunately, he can already feel the cold begin again. 

“Back to you, Philza, and your explanations for fucking a fridge, please.” 

Phil laughs and rubs a hand across his face. “You might as well sit. This is going to be... confusing.” 

Tommy gasps as Fundy manhandles Wilbur as close to the fire as possible. “Please don’t tell me you lied about fucking a fridge. I can’t believe you’d do that to me. I trusted you! That’s it! I’m going to definitely pass out in the snow after this.” 

Phil rolls his eyes, huffs and quickly spits out, “the fridge was the first thing I could think of to not tell you the truth because if you knew the truth then, well, it wouldn’t be the good kind of truth.”

Wilbur narrows his eyes. “Is Kristin actually alive?” 

Phil sighs, shakes his head and begins to play with the rings around his neck as his wings twitch. “So, funny story, she both is dead and... alive.” 

“What?” Tommy furrows his brow but Wilbur is ten steps ahead, thinking over what Phil has mentioned in the past, the bits of information blurted out or whispered. 

He met Kristin when he was young and she stayed with him for years before she passed. To hide who she truly is, Phil always made the joke of her being a Samsung Smart Fridge and Techno always said it had to do with how she was an ice queen. He always enjoyed Phil’s stories, finding a way to fit his mythological knowledge in somehow. Wilbur wonders if maybe Techno is right. 

“Is this like a riddle?” Fundy asks, tail flicking by his ankles. “What is both alive and dead?”

Tommy buries his face in his hands. “Please tell me you didn’t fuck a zombie, Phil. I swear- if you- just no. That’s fucking gross, man.” 

“She’s not a zombie, Tommy,” Techno mutters and Tommy rolls his eyes, hisses at him. 

Wilbur doesn’t notice. He’s too busy staring at Phil, at the giant, black wings on his back, at the sword at his side, at the rings around his neck. Phil looks back and Wilbur remembers hearing his title for the first time, the fear and awe he felt staring at the man who saved him. The Angel of Death. Maybe it was more literal than Wilbur first believed. 

“That’s why I’m cold, isn’t it?” He breathes and Phil gives him a sad smile as the room falls silent. “The whole Angel of Death thing isn’t just referring to your wings. Kristin is...” 

He can’t say it, can’t quite wrap his head around it. Kristin is Death and Phil is the Angel doing her bidding. 

“When I killed you, your soul was promised to her. Now that you’re back and clearly alive, I think some of your soul is still with her.” Phil looks ashamed, not meeting Wilbur’s burning gaze. “I’m sorry, Wil, but I don’t know how to change that. Every time I take a life, that soul becomes hers to look after. It would make sense why you’re the only one who’s cold considering I only killed you.”

In a strange, romantic gesture, instead of buying his love flowers, Phil appears to give her souls instead. Wilbur almost wants to laugh. Of course, their family could only get weirder.

“Can’t you just call her up, or something?” Fundy asks and Tommy nods, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

“If she’s like death, summon her or some shit.” 

Techno huffs. “Do you not remember all the stories Phil used to tell us? Don’t you think Phil would’ve done that earlier if he could?” 

Wilbur can’t stop staring at the man he calls his father. “You mean to tell me,” he hisses and Phil flinches, “that Mexican Dream was right?”

Phil blanches and Tommy starts giggling, Techno blinking at him. “What?” 

“Mexican Dream told me my soul had been claimed by Death before passing me ecstasy. We’ve literally covered this.”

Tommy starts laughing in earnest and even Phil and Fundy have grins climbing onto their faces. Techno simply rolls his eyes but Wilbur isn’t done. 

“What does that mean for me?” He asks and Phil shrugs as Techno looks away.

“I don’t know, Wil. I’m sorry. The cold could be the absence of some part of your soul or all of it.” Phil rings his hands together as his wings twitch and flutter. “No one I’ve killed has ever come back before.” 

Wilbur can feel the worry and depression climb up his throat. He feels like he’s standing by the button again, his heart pounding, the brushes of Death, waiting for him to follow. Back then, it wasn’t an urge to to die, the urge was more to not exist. 

Wilbur has always been a sunshine, of warmth and bright laughter, of constant energy and loudness. His presence has always been a flame, demanding attention and acknowledgement. 

But his flame was reduced to embers and now, freshly breathing once again, that oxygen in his lungs seems to no longer fuel his fire. He’s more a flickering light than a forest fire. 

He looks to Tommy, who’s staring at him with worry, clearly trying to think of some joke to lighten the mood. He looks to Techno, who’s staring at his hands, fighting back concern over a twin who he’s not even blood-related to. He looks to Phil, who’s face is white with anguish, clearly confused and panicked over what pain he’s caused his son. He looks to Fundy, who’s eyes are bloodshot and fearful, not wanting to watch his father die once again. 

So Wilbur does what Wilbur has always done: pull on a mask and lie with all his being. He smiles softly at Fundy and pulls him closer, tucking his chin back over his head. 

“I’m not leaving you again,” he swears and the lie feels more like a promise, a vow. His own eyes begin to water. “I swear to you, whatever is happening, I’m going to fight it. If we all can survive what’s happened to us, then I might as well add fighting Death to that list. I’ve beaten her before.” 

Fundy shakes in his arms, claws digging into Wilbur’s back. “Please. Please, don’t leave me again.” 

Techno and Phil look away while Tommy stares at Wilbur with something akin to determination. They’re a family once again. Wilbur won’t lose that.

“I’m not losing to this, Funds. After all, if Phil is as old as we think he is, I’ve still got some years to catch up on.” Fundy laughs, wetly and Wilbur kisses the top of his head, enjoying the warmth from the embrace and the fact he can once again hold his son. 

He’s lost in that moment. He’s surrounded by family and he’s warm. Of course, it’s his family though so chaos is always close around the corner.

Fundy pulls away to blink over at Phil. “When you said you were centuries old, I thought that was a joke to stop us from calling you an old man. Or some way of bragging to tell us how much you’ve accomplished.” 

“I think that makes him more old-“ Tommy mutters and Techno snorts while Phil rolls his eyes.

“I’m going to punt you into the fucking sun.” 

Tommy’s eyes spark. “Not if I let the snow take me, bitch.” 

“I swear to God, I will leave you there-“

“You know what, Philza Minecraft-“ 

Fundy starts laughing as Techno reaches across to place his hand on the back of Wilbur’s neck. He’s burning hot and Wilbur sighs to the background noise of bickering. 

“You’re warmer now.” Techno comments. “At least we won’t be seeing the return of Ghostbur this evening.” 

Wilbur smiles at him. “Just say you love having me around, Tech. Say that you missed me like a good twin should.” 

“We’re not even twins, Wil. You’re delusional.” 

Wilbur’s smile widens. “I’m allowed to be a little delusional considering Death, who’s somehow our adoptive mother, wants my soul.” 

Fundy snorts, his ears twitching. “That’s fair.” He pauses and then looks at Phil with wide eyes. “Does that mean I can tell everyone that my grandma is Death?” 

Phil pauses from yelling at Tommy to shake his head. “No, Fundy, you can’t-“

“Does mumza have some wack genes because Fundy’s a fox and I’m a dirty crime boy and Tommy’s a fucking raccoon and we’re not even going to mention Tech being a fucking pig?” Wilbur interrupts and Tommy immediately starts laughing, along with a huff from Techno, a shrug from Fundy and a chuckle from Phil. 

“I think you keep forgetting we’re not related, Wil.” Techno grumbles and Wilbur leans over to hook his chin on Techno’s shoulder, blowing pink hair from his face. 

“Ah, but we’re family.” He says it like a secret but he can see Techno’s ears twitch and Tommy coos. 

“Yes, we’re brothers, aren’t we?” 

“Don’t say that, I will cry,” Wilbur mutters while still looking at Techno. “We’re brothers, right?” 

Techno huffs, keeps his eyes away but Wilbur waits him out. His childhood was built on being the loud one while Techno was the quiet one. Even when Tommy showed up, matching Wilbur’s energy, they all acknowledged Techno’s silences, learnt to read his expressions and limited words. 

With a long, drawn out sigh he looks from Wilbur to Tommy. “If you say so.” 

“Nu-huh, you have to say it.” Wilbur doesn’t relent.

Techno briefly looks to Phil, helplessly, but the man doesn’t help. He simply watches the exchange with fond eyes and a soft smile. Techno runs a hand across his face and gently pushes Wilbur away. He straightens like he’s about to give a speech to an army, crimson eyes alight.

“Fine. Yes, I do consider you my family. I- I always have and while I’m still angry over what happened, I never wanted either of you die, or for Fundy to feel like he wasn’t apart of this. I’m not good at doing this but I do like you all, so, I suppose that means something.” 

Silence echoes from the walls and Wilbur blinks at him, shocked into gaping at him like a fish. Of course he knew Techno cared, he wouldn’t still be with them if he didn’t but the fact he has acknowledged it has Wilbur frozen. A different type of warmth floods his veins and he shuts his mouth to pull it into what can only be described as a deranged grin.

“Aw,” he says, breaking the silence, “you do love us, really.”

Techno rolls his eyes. “I’m already regretting this - chat, shut up and stop sending hearts - so much.” 

Tommy blinks tears from his eyes before throwing himself at Techno, who catches him and gently holds him. No one mentions the look of hope on his face, no one dares to break the moment. Tommy’s still healing and when he wants affection or attention, none of them refuse him. Even if Techno’s not fond of embraces. 

Wilbur looks away, back to Phil, who’s smiling as he hastily wipes tears from his cheeks. “I don’t blame you,” Wilbur says, quietly. “I asked you for this. Don’t blame yourself for my actions.” 

Phil reaches over, briefly ruffles Fundy’s hair, and places his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “I don’t care, Wil, I should’ve spoken to you before I- so listen when I tell you I’m going to find a way to stop this or at least limit it.” 

Wilbur leans into the hold, gripping Fundy tighter. “If it helps, it’s sort of a distant chill and then some days are like this. I need to be directly in the sun, or by a fire, to feel warm.”

“Maybe, the longer you stay alive, the more the effects will leave you?” Fundy suggests and Phil considers this. 

“Maybe. Like I said, I’ve never dealt with this before.” He opens his mouth, pauses and then says, “I could speak to Sam to see if I could visit Dream. He might have heard of something like this.” 

“Or Karl,” Techno adds, shrugging. “He might have seen something on his many travels.” 

Phil hums in the back of his throat, wings fluttering. “I’ll talk to Sam when I head back. He could arrange a meeting for all of us to discuss it.” 

Wilbur blinks. “First of all, I hate the green bastard and second of all, what about Karl? Isn’t he planning his wedding, currently?”

Fundy grumbles under his breath, “yes, he is. Thinks he can make the best wedding to date. I’ll show him. Even if I have to burn that church to the ground.” 

Tommy finally pulls away from Techno’s chest to grin at Fundy, eyes bloodshot. “Just tell Mexican Dream his cousin is getting married and then simply watch the chaos unfold.” 

Fundy returns the grin with one that’s so like Wilbur’s, his heart aches. “Tommy, have I told you how smart you are recently? Oh, that’s brilliant. I’m going to fuck with them so hard-“

“I thought you liked them?” Wilbur asks, confused and Fundy nods, tail wagging slightly in eagerness. 

“Oh, I do but after George ruined my wedding, I’ve been planning a better one. It’s going to be amazing, dad, okay? I found this beautiful church and this quaint little town- only for Quackity to announce that he’s getting married soon and I’m not letting Sapnap one up me simply because he’s friends with George, okay? Only I am allowed the perfect wedding.” 

“If George ruined it last time, how will you stop him this time?” Techno asks as Wilbur splutters, “you’re getting married again and you didn’t tell me?”

Fundy shrugs. “You’re invited, don’t worry. And as for George,” his eyes light with fire and his grin is more predatory than anything Wilbur’s seen on him before, “I’ve got something sorted for him.”

Wilbur blinks at his son as Techno nods. “Need help, let me know. I’ll distract him-“

“You’re not chasing George around the server again.” Phil says, sternly and Techno sighs but nods as Phil turns to Wilbur. “Back to the original discussion. I know it’s not ideal but Dream and Karl know things, trust me, trust both Techno and I when we say we’ve encountered them before. If I can’t find anything, they should know something or even someone with some knowledge to help.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’m still intrigued about what Karl has to do with this, though.”

“We’re going to work this out, okay?” Phil says and when he stretches a wing across, Wilbur easily falls into the embrace. “We’ll figure something out.” 

Wilbur doesn’t know what his future holds. He doesn’t even know if he’ll live long enough to see it if the cold in his bones won’t leave. There’s so much uncertainty but Wilbur is surrounded by his family and he’s warm, he’s finally warm. His father has wrapped him up in his wings and he has his son in his arms as his brothers watch. He’s safe and warm. 

Wilbur’s home and as a smile graces his lips, he’s happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember lads, stay hydrated, eat if you haven’t or because you’re hungry, sleep if you need to or walk around a bit if you need to, unclench that jaw and relax your shoulders and most importantly, take them meds :)
> 
> Thank you all!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to take a while but,,, here we are :)
> 
> That stream, am I right? Here’s to praying that Tommy stays alive and well and everyone else also stays alive and well and no conflict or angst occurs.... *laughs nervously*
> 
> TW// swearing, mental health discussions, brief mentions of child abuse, mentions of death and blood
> 
> ENJOY!!

He was fifteen when he experienced the worst pain imaginable, when his back was alight with fire and his bones broke and reformed. Three weeks he spent in his bed, healing potions sustaining him as his parents tried to keep him as calm as possible, all while cleaning up the excessive amount of blood pouring from his back. 

He had sobbed and screamed himself raw until he would eventually pass out. Each time he would wake, his mother would pet the hair from his face and keep the door to his room locked so his two siblings wouldn’t see. 

He doesn’t remember much from those three weeks, only the pain and the blood and then the new weight on his back, the way his muscles protested the change. By the time he could finally stand without assistance, he knew his time was running out. Six months was counting down. 

Everything he had been taught was important in those few moments as he spent every hour possible in the days leading up to leaving, learning to survive, learning the last lesson he would ever be taught. The most important one. The one that would lead to his survival or his death. How to survive with wings by himself.

He was fifteen when the time ran out and he found himself standing at the edge of his home in the mountains, staring over the edge at the fluffy clouds. The air was thick with salt and the wind ruffled his blond hair. His mother gave him a final kiss, tears in her eyes as she bid him a goodbye, ushering his siblings back behind the safety of the rock face. They were smaller than him as he was the favourite, the firstborn. He was the one to get the most out of the food brought back, the one to get the most attention. They never hated him for it: that was their life but they didn’t say goodbye. With him gone, they’d get more food, more attention. His father had kissed his hair, bid his own goodbye and then, with a final smile, he had pushed him over the edge. 

Here’s the thing, growing up in that household, he was never sad even if he knew this would eventually happen. He would be kicked from the nest. 

Phil just never expected the phrase to be so literal. 

So maybe that’s the reason he backed away from his responsibilities as a father. Maybe that’s why he picked the boys with the most survival capabilities and favoured Technoblade - the oldest, the strongest, the one that never knew when to stop fighting - and maybe that’s why he was always destined to watch them fall from grace. A bird with it’s wings clipped is a dead bird. A weak chick will be pushed from the nest instantly, to make room for a stronger, healthier one. 

But no matter where it’s gotten him, Phil will never apologise for finding them, for rearing them and watching them grow. So maybe he was lonely, had spent centuries alone, wandering with no destination in sight, building a reputation for himself. He was strong but he missed the hustle and bustle of others even if by nature, he was a solitary creature. 

Phil had fallen in love with something no one should. Death. That only brought more pain - when she had to leave, her time on a server that was created for them running out even if the few years with her were the best he’s every lived - and he wanted some life, a different type of adventure. He wanted a family again. 

As he looks to the boys spread across the room Phil starts to hate himself. Techno’s face is covered by his pink hair, ears twitching, Wilbur with his legs thrown over Techno’s lap, Tommy’s fingers clutching his sweater as the boy curls up beside him, arms still wrapped in bandages. Fundy rests by Wilbur’s head, tail clutched in his hands, ears twitching against Wilbur’s dark hair.

After they had pulled Wilbur from the basement, Tommy had messaged Tubbo, who in turn brought Ranboo over. On the floor beside the fire, Ranboo’s limbs are all tucked in, making him seem so, so small. Tubbo has his back pressed to Ranboo’s, hogging the entire blanket Phil had thrown over the pair.

Ever since he saw Wilbur by the button, the self-hatred has grown. Who was he to step into their lives and ruin them?

Avian hybrids, much like many of the other hybrids, take after their animal or mob counterparts. Phil and his wings, his need for the sky, the occasional chirps he releases when stressed. Phil and the lingering thought that his boys are no longer boys, they’ve grown now, they should be in their homes, far from the nest. 

When Phil was of age, he was pushed from a mountain, pushed from his nest and was to never return. He was old enough. It was time. 

As he stares at them, he can’t help but hate that he used that same logic on humans, on other hybrids. He may have flown from the nest but the others didn’t. He pushed them and watched as they fell, with a shrug and an eye roll. If a bird cannot fly, the bird will die. Birds do not mourn what cannot survive. Even when the chick falling to their death is their own flesh and blood. 

He shakes himself out of his stupor and turns to Techno’s bathroom. Outside, a blizzard rages - he thinks it may be dying down - and he hates how it makes his skin itch. He can’t fly in this. Especially when his wings are still healing. 

Looking in the mirror, he spreads his wings slightly - the room much too small to encompass his true wingspan - and gently brushes his fingers over the damaged feathers. The main bone and arch have healed from the explosion although excess movement aches. The feathers are a different problem altogether. Some were completely singed, some torn. Half of his wings were damaged and at the time, as he tried to shield his son, as the pain was nothing like when they first grew in, he thought he’d lost them. 

Wings are delicate things. They need to be cared for and preened and moulting is an extremely important time to maintain the health of the wing. Yet he had done what he’d been told to never do: he’d stepped close to an explosion and used them to try and save his son. A son that wasn’t even his by blood. A son that didn’t act like the boy he raised. A son that had flown the nest and so wasn’t Phil’s problem anymore. 

But his instincts to fly away were overwhelmed with a paternal need to protect. The Wilbur before him wasn’t the Wilbur he knew but that didn’t matter. He wanted him safe, he wanted to have him in his arms, away from the explosions, the burning, the heat. 

He had sacrificed something so important to his very being, only to end up killing Wilbur. 

Running his fingertips over his primaries, he fixes a few before puffing his wings up. A few immediately float to the ground and he begins the task of preening them, fixing and shifting and grooming what was nearly stolen from him. It doesn’t hurt like it did the days after, when he sat and sobbed, tugging burnt feathers from broken bones and torn skin. 

Looking at them now, healthy, healing, he thinks he could fly again. Properly this time, not like when he briefly shot in the air to dodge Sam’s explosion. After feeling Wilbur’s freezing forehead, Phil is glad that while he stabbed Sam, his death was of his own accord. Wilbur may be suffering but at least Phil’s misfortune isn’t involving another person.

Footsteps sound and Phil immediately drops his hands, draws his wings in as a sleepy Fundy rounds the corner, rubbing his hands over his eyes. 

“Everything okay, grandpa?” He slurs slightly and Phil smiles, steps towards him to lead him back to Wilbur. 

“Yes, mate. I’m alright. Go back to sleep.” 

Fundy yawns and after a quick hug, nuzzling at Phil’s neck - he doesn’t tense, even if his hindbrain is screaming that this is a predator at his throat - he easily drops back to the ground, pillowing his head in his arms. Phil sighs, his feathers rustling and he feels like he’s back on that mountain, wondering if he’ll fly or fall. 

The night wears on and Phil rests his hand in the curls of Wilbur’s hair and knows he’s out of his depth. He’s trying, he really is but he can’t cope, not really. There’s always a risk, always a worry. Wilbur and his insanity, Techno and his bloodlust, Tommy and his trauma. That’s not even counting Fundy’s daddy issues and Tubbo’s trauma and Ranboo’s rocky mental health. Then there’s Wilbur’s icy skin, death clinging to his soul.

Phil doesn’t know how to do this, not really. He was never supposed to be a father and maybe his loneliness has condemned them all but he’s trying so hard to keep his family together. He’s learning that Tommy needs to hear Phil before he sees him, that Tubbo doesn’t like when his cowering at loud noises is mentioned, that Wilbur is cold most of the time and so checking in that is more helpful than a hindrance. 

Phil is trying but he doesn’t know whether it’ll save them. It’s that moment of staring over the edge of the mountain and knowing the wings are too weak to hold him up. The impact will be quick, pretty painless but it is a death all the same. 

He’s already lost one son to his own hand, lost another to his loneliness and abuse. That doesn’t even count the amounts of battles and wars he’s seen Techno face, seen Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo fight in. 

Phil has seen empires rise and fall, has watched countless friends die. He’s always moved on. To be still is to die and Phil only has one life, he refuses to let it by taken by his ignorance. So he fights and he lives and time slips by without his notice. 

But then he had to find a piglin child covered in scars staring at him with big, crimson eyes in the nether. The child was small, smaller than some of the others but his body was already filled with muscle, his hands holding the sword with a practiced ease. Phil should’ve walked away. He’d seen children bred for war before and had swallowed and left but something about the child drew him forward. 

The fighting pits were a little way off and whoever owned the child - yes, owned because a child born to the pits only had an owner, not a family - clearly believed he wouldn’t run. 

Phil had passed the child a piece of cloth to clean the blood from his lip, a loaf of bread and then resolutely turned. He no longer wanted to watch the fights but even back then, there was something in the child that still exists to this day. A need for survival.

The child had grabbed Phil’s hand and stuttered through a language he clearly didn’t understand just to tell Phil thank you. When Phil had froze, he had forced out a joke to say that the loaf would sustain him for a month and Phil had thrown all caution to the wind. 

Technoblade was the first. A child bred for war, a fighter with immeasurable skill despite his young age. Maybe Phil saw the chick in the nest with the biggest wings, the one that fought the others for food to become the strongest. Maybe Phil saw a chick that would survive. 

After Techno, Phil couldn’t help but find others, more chicks to starve off the loneliness, chicks with a fighter’s spirit. Wilbur and his sticky fingers and charming smile. Tommy and his feral words and erratic movements. Tubbo and Tommy’s clear love for the boy, his big eyes but cheeky smirk. Ranboo and his actions, so like Techno, a pushover that would still fight for what he believed in. 

Phil had collected the survivors and forgot they were children. They may have fought to survive but they didn’t know true loss, they hadn’t coped with loneliness like he had, hadn’t understood what life is truly like. 

Maybe Phil was greedy and his own avian mentality had corrupted them. They were grown and so didn’t need him. He no longer had to worry about bringing food home, about sheltering them, about teaching them. They were no longer chicks but he forgot that they were never chicks to begin with. 

With a sigh, he walks to the kitchen and scribbles a quick note to say he’s testing the strength of his wings and then he leaves. Shutting the door quietly behind him - thankfully the blizzard has died down enough to walk - he ventures across the snow, wings drawn tight around his body and thanks Tubbo’s idea of creating a railway to hasten journeys. 

In minutes, he’s stepping onto the soil of Snowchester and walking towards the ruins of L’Manberg. The wind is strong and his wings flutter. He’s only flown once since Wilbur died: stabbing Sam and the Dreamon. Afterwards, his wings had ached, weak and still recovering from the explosion. 

He spreads them and lets the wind pick him up. He’s approaching water so he won’t crash and burn but his wings will be damaged further. Water makes his wings heavy and can drown him if he’s not careful. It’s why whenever he uses a trident, he only steps into the water, only up to his knees. 

He climbs an incline, wind trying to push and exhales. Phil would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. His wings are more than just a part of him: they are him. They’re indicative of who he is. 

Swallowing his fear, he shifts and runs to the edge, pushing off from the ground. For a second, Phil thinks he’s going to fall. His wings flutter and his back aches from the weight of trying to keep him up. Then the wind picks up and his wings flap, lifting him up, up, up. 

He doesn’t go too high, the fear of falling stirring but he swoops across the ocean to the ruins of L’Manberg. A laugh bubbles from his throat and he smiles, relishing at the feeling of wind in his hair, in his feathers. 

Phil is free. The skies have always been more of a home than anything he’s ever built. When his friends would die, when he would server-skip in fear of being hunted, when the world was crushing him, he would simply fly and he could breathe again. 

By the time he touches down, a little rough but that’s to be expected, he’s panting. It’s been too long and fiery pain spreads across his shoulders and back, across his wing bones, as they curl up. They’re weak but they work, he can still fly and that’s all that matters. 

He treks across onto the prime path, the moon dipping down with every step he takes. He wonders when the message from one of the boys will come through, their concern bleeding across the distance Phil puts between them. 

He may have been a somewhat terrible father but he’s going to be better. Phil is not the boy who was pushed from the mountain. Phil is a man now, one who’s seen too much and has survived everything thrown at him. Gripping the set of rings on the necklace around his throat he has only one destination in mind. 

Finding the lever is easy enough and the door opens. Phil can’t help but be impressed by the mechanics once again. Everything in the area in a machine, either working fluidly or being tested. 

He lets himself in without thought - Sam doesn’t care about intrusions - and finds the man blinking up at him from his couch, soft music playing in the background as he grooms Fran. The dog in question wags her tail at Phil but doesn’t move from Sam’s lap. 

Sam studies him for a second and then nods to the kitchen. “There’s a pot of coffee on if you want.” 

Phil smiles. “Thank you.” 

He walks over, grabs a cup to fill it and then makes his way to sit on one of Sam’s chairs, watching as Fran tilts her head to let Sam groom under her chin. Phil watches for a moment, sips the warm coffee before Sam raises his eyebrows at him. 

“I need to speak to Dream and Karl about something. Preferably together.” He knows he’s being vague but a part of him is still unsure where Sam and him stand. Is he family like Tommy and Tubbo keep saying or is he simply a family friend? 

Sam nods, doesn’t ask. “George and Sapnap are visiting Dream tomorrow but Thursday is good, I believe. It depends how long it’ll take because Bad’s trying to make his omelettes edible.”

“I can do Thursday, yeah.” Sam smiles and turns back to Fran. Her eyes are closed, tail wagging as he brushes her back, itching her ears to make her head tilt. 

Phil’s trying to come up with a way to broach the subject when Sam beats him to it. “Can I ask a personal question?” 

Phil blinks. “Sure, mate.” 

“I don’t mean any offence but are your wings okay?” Sam asks, pausing the grooming to look up at Phil. “When I lived with my mother, we had a few avians so I understand if you don’t to talk about it but I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” 

Phil doesn’t know how he does it but every time he interacts with Sam, it’s like the rug is pulled out from under him. Sam, with his fiery temper and the bomb in his chest. Sam, with his soothing words and open arms. Sam, with his understanding and his easy-going nature. 

“I remember you telling me that you lived in a hybrid community.” 

Sam nods, runs his hand through Fran’s fur. “Mom and I were one of three creeper families. We had a few mermaids, a piglin couple and their daughter and a few avians. Two blazes and three endermen. I think a slime came once but he was just a kid passing through.” 

Phil can think back to his travels when he would pass communities filled with hybrids. There were little pockets of families everywhere and he always felt safe within their ranks. Once within the group, they’d fight to protect, to defend the other members of the group.

Phil clears his throat. “That’s actually something I wanted to talk about.” 

Sam‘a brow furrows. “Me living with hybrids?” 

Phil chuckles. “No, no. It’s more about my... nature, I guess.” 

There’s a sudden flash of understanding in Sam’s eyes and he breaks his gaze to look down at Fran. He brushes the fur from his lap into his palm as she jumps down to the floor, shaking. He journeys to the kitchen, dropping her fur into the bin and shoving the brush into a cabinet before coming to sit by Phil again. 

For a long second, he looks at Phil and then quietly says, “whatever you have to say, I’m not going to judge you. My dad- Hunters were after him when my mom had me so he had to leave before I was even born. I- well, at the beginning I hated him for it because I missed out on a childhood with him but he did what he had to do to protect us.” 

Phil is touched by the information but he knows it’s not the same. He isn’t running to protect his blood-relatives, he’s running because he can’t fight instincts that are more of a curse than a blessing. He’s hurt his children, not protected them. He says as much to Sam. 

“I should’ve stayed and looked after them. Instead, I saw them grow and thought it was enough. Even now, part of me wonders why they’re still here when they should be in their own homes, on different servers.” 

Sam shakes his head. “That doesn’t make you a bad person, Phil. Sure, you’re probably not going to be getting any father of the year awards but you offered them a home when they needed it. You gave them each other.” 

“And look where that’s got us,” Phil breathes. “Wilbur and Tommy died, we all turned our backs on Fundy, Tubbo nearly died and Techno is Techno. I think the strangest thing he did was go into retirement.” 

Sam’s lips quirk. “Is Techno giving up fighting that big of an anomaly?” 

Phil rapidly nods his heart. “It’s very concerning.” 

Sam laughs and then leans back against the couch as Fran curls up at his feet. “Still, as much as you’re not the best, you could certainly be worse. Have you tried to discuss this with them?”

Phil rolls his eyes. “And tell them, what? Oh, by the way, hybrids like me tend to throw their kids out six months after they develop wings and so I reasoned you could all cope without me?”

Sam just smiles at him. “That didn’t sound so bad to me. It’s better for you to try it and it not work that not try it at all.” 

Phil sighs, drops his head into his hands. “It’s difficult to explain, mate.” 

For a moment, the room falls quiet. Phil’s wings twitch and his back aches. Maybe speaking to Sam was a bad idea and instead, he should’ve just said he wanted to speak to Dream and then he should’ve left to work on his wings. 

“Phil,” Sam begins, quietly, “creepers once they reach maturity, are abandoned to the world. We’re solitary creatures.” 

“What?” Phil looks up and Sam shrugs, a sad smile to his lips. 

“I would’ve been kicked out when I was eighteen. My mom told me I could stay, of course, but we both know we would’ve started getting angry at each other, became more aggressive. I would’ve left at eighteen if the Hunters didn’t come and burn the community to the ground.” 

Phil blinks at him. “Seriously?” 

Sam shrugs again. “I can’t understand what your childhood was like nor I can understand what you’ve put Techno, Wil and Tommy through but I can understand it from a creeper’s perspective. In fact, I believe many hybrids would understand from their own perspective. Unlike humans, who latch onto their parents, we unfortunately don’t have that opportunity.” 

Oh. So maybe Phil has been going about this all wrong and maybe that’s why Techno has the least problems with Phil on his parenting style. Techno saw him as a father-figure once but piglin culture isn’t the same as human or even avian culture. Even if it’s not to do with his culture, Techno’s always been an independent individual. 

But Wilbur and Tommy needed him and he abandoned them. He understands that now.

“Phil,” Sam says, smiling at him. “Just speak to them. The longer you hide things, the more pain you’ll inevitably inflict.” 

Phil sighs, stands and shakes his wings out. His muscles burn but at least they’re working. He flexes them out before curling them back, right against his body. Sam watches the display with an amused gaze. 

“This might sound strange and you’re free to ignore it but the couple of avians who used to live by mom, well, one of them broke a wing.” Phil winces in sympathy. “He would stand atop a mountain for hours just to feel the wind in his feathers. Just in case you wanted to try.” 

Phil smiles and without thinking, reaches across to ruffle Sam’s green hair. Before he can jerk his hand away - this isn’t his son, their relationship isn’t like this - Sam briefly leans into it. 

“Thank you,” Phil says and Sam just grins up at him. “For the coffee and the advice and for arranging a meeting.” 

Sam shrugs. “Always happy to help. Have a safe journey.” 

Phil bids him a goodbye and walks out of his house. For a moment, he stands outside, closing his eyes and spreading his wings, already coming up with a plan on how to sort them out, to test his strength. 

He treks back, thinking of Wilbur’s cold hands and Tommy’s scared eyes and Techno’s resolute set of his shoulders. He thinks of Tubbo’s deflections and Fundy’s eagerness at contact and Ranboo’s silences. 

He was a chick, thrown from his nest, expected to either fly or fall. He’s no longer a chick anymore. He’s a man, who’s watched nations crumble and rise from the ashes, who’s weathered war with a bloodthirsty grin, who’s met Death and married her. Phil is no longer the man who flies away, not now he’s grounded. 

Wilbur is his first concern. He fiddles with the rings around his neck as he walks, wondering how he can possible contact Kristin. He knows that she doesn’t mean it to hurt him or Wilbur, knows that to her a soul is but a soul that Phil provides as a gift. Still, it’s been years since he’s caught a glimpse of her, that beautiful smile and those dark eyes. 

Every time he loses his one life, he finds himself beside her in her own realm. She hosts him for a while, spending the days basking in the others company. She may be Death but Phil has always put his love of Kristin next to his love of the skies, of the wind under his feathers, of the sun bathing him gold as he flies. 

But his time with her is always cut short. She never wishes for him to be taken from his life too long. She says there will be a time when they’re both ready, when he no longer needs to feel the heat on his skin as the sun rises, or the taste of fresh melon, of the wind in his hair. So with a kiss, she sends him back and he continues his life as if he never died.

He still remembers when he appeared after the baby zombie incident and Kristin had laughed so hard she’d cried. 

So Phil considers dying as a way to reach her. It would be easy, quick. He’s honestly willing to try anything to protect Wilbur but he knows death doesn’t work like the servers do. Time is different. A day there could be a century here and dying for his son’s life, only to miss the rest of it, would make little sense. 

Phil wants to watch them all grow up, grow old. He wants to be beside them. Shaking the solitude from his back, he decides there and then, as he steps into the minecart, that he wants to be with them until the end. He wants to laugh at the grey hairs and the families they create, he wants to hold their hands and guide them through life. 

Most of all, Phil wants to be there when they finally do die, wants to tell them that everything is going to be okay because Kristin will be waiting for them. He wants to make sure that their last few moments are good, are happy, are spent reliving the best memories. 

He wants to be there for them and if Wilbur runs the risk of dying again, he’s going to swallow his pride and take Sam’s advice. He’s going to tell them why their childhood with him was the way it was.

Stepping out onto the snow, he walks the distance to the house, watching as the sun rises and the snow glistens. It’s freezing but Phil feels a part of himself warm. His wings pull tight against his back as he smiles at the polar bears and Carl - Phil runs a quick hand over his ears, pets his nose - and he climbs the stairs to Techno’s front door. 

Opening it, he’s met with sweltering heat and noise. Tommy and Tubbo are fighting over toast as Wilbur rests his head against Techno’s shoulder, eyes closed as Fundy explains some type of redstone mechanics to Techno. Ranboo is still curled on the floor, blanket covering his limbs as he snoozes. 

Phil’s family is a little messy, a little chaotic but he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

The door closing has Techno immediately looking over, concerned eyes and tense shoulders relaxing at Phil’s smile. Phil can still see the way he checks his wings though, scanning his body for any type of injury. 

With Ranboo still asleep, or at least not present, it’s the perfect time for explanations. 

“Everything okay?” Techno asks when he doesn’t try to sit and Phil nods, clears his throat. 

“I- uh. Well, I wanted to talk about something, actually.” 

Wilbur’s eyes blink open as Tommy and Tubbo still. “You didn’t damage your wings while you were out, did you?” 

Phil shakes his head. “No, no. Nothing like that. I suppose it’s related though.” 

He inhales, orders his thoughts, tries to quell his panic. Phil has faced armies before, he’s survived in conditions very few could, he’s married to Death. If he can’t even talk to his sons, somethings amiss. He exhales. 

“When I was kid,” he starts and they all lean closer, intrigued considering Phil’s never really mentioned his childhood, “I was the oldest of three so I would get the most food and the most attention. I was told at a young age that my time with my family would be limited. Avian hybrids don’t really deal with families. You raise children to a certain age and then they literally fly the nest. After that they’re no longer your problem.”

He takes another deep breath, focuses on the wooden table and not on any of them. “I think I’ve already mentioned that my wings grew in at fifteen but I never told you that when I could stand on my own, I only had six months to stay with my family before my dad pushed me off a mountain-“

“What the fuck!” Tommy shouts as a chorus of other exclamations fill the room. From the corner of his eye, Phil watches Ranboo shoot up, stare at all of them and then flop back to the ground, drawing the blanket over his head. 

“Your dad did that to you and you survived?” Tubbo hisses and Phil makes the exaggerated motion of flexing his wings out before drawing them back in. 

“In avian culture, Tubbo, you fall or you fly. It was a normal thing.”

“It’s really not fucking normal, Phil.” Wilbur snaps, eyes wide and Phil smiles at him, reassuringly. 

“To avians, yes it is. Just like Techno liking gold, Fundy chasing chickens, Tubbo running into things with his head, and Ranboo avoiding eye contact. It’s part of who I am.” 

Fundy blinks up at him. “I’m sorry that your dad pushed you off a mountain, Phil.”

“Thank you, Fundy,” Phil replies and then sighs. “Look, what I’m trying to say is I fucked with your childhood because to me, to everything I knew, to my instincts, the minute you could look after yourselves, I believed I wasn’t needed anymore. Hence the travelling and trips away.” 

“You thought we were old enough to fly from the nest.” Wilbur mutters and Phil nods. 

“Is that why you favour Techno?” Tommy asks, head tilting. “‘Cause he’s like, the oldest, big and strong and shit.” 

“Tommy,” Techno says but Phil just nods once again. 

“Probably. A part of me saw you all as chicks that were grown. I- well, I don’t know what you want to do with this information but I thought you should know.”

“And you came to this conclusion all on your own,” Techno teases, already knowing what Phil’s going to say.

Phil rolls his eyes. “I may have made use of our local therapist creeper, yes.” 

Tommy and Tubbo share a look and as Tommy opens his mouth, Ranboo suddenly teleports beside Tubbo. Instantly, Tubbo screams, jumping into Tommy, who tries to jump away, yells echoing through the room. Techno rolls his eyes as Ranboo’s jaw unhinges into a yawn and Wilbur and Fundy erupt into laughter. 

“Fucking hell, Ranboo,” Tommy groans, hand to his chest as Tubbo stares at him wide-eyed.

“I want another divorce.”

Ranboo sighs, reaching up to grab the cereal he hides on the top shelf and mumurs, “oh no, what ever will I do with myself.” 

Phil blinks at them. “Wait, you’re married?”

“Ranboo,” Techno says, voice oddly threatening, “you’re married to a member of the government?”

“You can imagine the kind of stress that I am under.” Ranboo responds easily enough, fills a bowl and adds the milk. “To answer your question, Phil, Tubbo and I are married or at least, we’re getting married-“

“Tommy’s going to be the flower girl!” Tubbo interrupts and Fundy groans, eyes darkening. 

“Another wedding I have to compete with! That’s it, I’m done with this family.” He snarls before dropping his face into Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Since when was I the flower girl, Tubso?” Tommy asks and Tubbo takes one look at Tommy’s grin and sprints off, Tommy hot on his heels. 

“Oh,” Ranboo says as he rests back against the cabinets, digging into his cereal, “we also have an adopted son, Michael.” 

Wilbur laughs. “Aw, Phil, everyone ends up getting your ‘I need to adopt any small, sad child’ genes.” 

“I’m not a small, sad child.” Fundy grumbles and Wilbur immediately agrees, cooing while his eyes tell a different story. 

“The government, Ranboo!” Techno continues and Phil sighs. “Have you learnt nothing? You’re suppose to listen to your mentor! Think of Steve. What will he think knowing you’re with the government of all people?” 

“So I assume this means none of you want to cut into me about your childhoods?” Phil asks before Ranboo can respond and Wilbur just smiles at him. 

“Dad, dadza, Phil. We love you, man. Sure, our childhood was a bit shitty but it makes sense why you did it. We’re over it-“

“You owe me like, fifty diamond axes in compensation,” Tommy pants, as Tubbo ducks under the table. 

Phil laughs. “Sure, Toms.” He swallows and says, “uh, there is something else now that you’re all awake.” 

And that’s how Phil finds himself atop a mountain a few hours later, Ranboo staring over the edge with terrified, wide-eyes. The wind is strong and Phil instinctively smiles, spreading his arms and flexing his wings all the way out. Two large, black wings: a fearsome sight.

Here is where he is most at home. Here, he is the master of his domain. Here, he is the Angel of Death. 

“No offence,” Ranboo starts, “but are you sure about this? I mean, if you drop, you’ll end up in the water but your wings will pull you under.” 

“That’s why everyone else is down there, Ranboo.” Phil tells him, pulling him from the edge. “You could’ve stayed with them.” 

“I didn’t want you to be lonely on your ascent.” Ranboo shrugs. “Plus, I can teleport down so it’s all good. But, Phil, I’ve gotta say, this is the exact opposite of street smarts. Even with your impressive wings, the statistics of you becoming roadkill is high.” 

Phil laughs, already feeling lighter. “Thanks for the confidence, mate.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that! I’m concerned, Phil.” 

Phil smiles at him, claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “I’m going to be fine. Have a little faith.” 

“Have you considered not throwing yourself off of a mountain? It is so much easier not to do things than to do them.” 

Phil rolls his eyes at Ranboo’s words but squeezes tighter. “If you couldn’t teleport for a while, and you had to opportunity to try again, wouldn’t you?” 

Ranboo sighs, heavily and nods. “Fine. I agree. Be careful, okay? It’ll really put a dampener on the wedding if you’re not there to give Tubbo away. Oh! And Fundy’s wedding if you’re not there to stop Techno hunting down George. Oh! And Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap’s wedding if you’re not there to stop your grandson committing arson.”

Phil blinks and laughs. There’s air in his lungs and his wings are twitching, trying to find the right air current to fly. 

“I didn’t realise I was so integral to these weddings. Or that I was giving Tubbo away.” 

Ranboo ducks down, hides his face and grumbles, “that was suppose to be a surprise.” 

Phil grins at him, brings him into a quick embrace and breathes, “I’ll pretend to be shocked when he tells me.” 

Then, he gently pushes Ranboo further from the edge, lifting his wing over the boy’s head as he ducks, and approaches the edge. He could do a hundred things, flip, jump, cannonball. This is what Phil knows, what is more instinctual than anything else in his life. 

He takes a deep breath, drawing his wings in, tight to his back and throws Ranboo his hat. Blond hair spills across his face as the wind picks up and he feels alive. The air rushes across his body and the skies call to him, beckoning him towards them. 

His wings are still sore, still a bit damaged but they held his weight earlier, they can do it again. He won’t ever trust himself if he can’t do this. It’s like he’s back at the mountain of his home, young and scared but filled with anticipation. To survive was to trust himself, trust the wings on his back and the instincts driving him. 

“Phil?” Ranboo calls and he turns, smiling so wide his mouth hurts. 

“See you down there, mate.” 

Then, with a laugh, he tips himself forward, off the mountain. 

Ranboo shouts behind him but the noise is easily drowned out by the air rushing across his face, over his ears. His eyesight shifts as another membrane falls over his eye, making it so he can fly without his eyes being damaged and without blinking. His lungs expand and his muscles tense, feathers fluttering as his hair whips around his face. 

He’s free. Phil is free. 

As the water approaches, Phil can make out Techno, Sam and a freshly teleported Ranboo at the ocean’s side. Sam has an armful of medical equipment and he knows his bag is filled with healing potions. Sitting atop the ocean, Wilbur and Tommy share a boat while Fundy and Tubbo inhabit another. They’re waiting to see if like Icarus, he crashes and falls. 

But Phil knows himself, knows his wings, knows his instincts. He’s not a man destined to burn in flames due to his own calling of fire. He’s a man destined to fly in the name of the one he calls his wife. 

The water nears and he laughs as his wings flex out. 

For a second, he continues to plummet before his wings catch the air and he’s rising, feathers briefly brushing the water’s surface. They flap and he surges up, gliding past Wilbur and Tommy. He dips his wing in and sprays them with water as they shout and cheer, hollers following him as he flaps up to the sky, panting as his heart pounds and his muscles strain. 

He isn’t concerned. Not like this. Never like this. This is his home, this is where he belongs, this is where he’s free. The life inside Phil bursts and he’s never felt more alive. 

He spins back, wings curling close as he dive-bombs before his wings flex out again. He soars and drags the tip of his wing across the water to splash Tubbo and Fundy. More yells of joy fill his ears as he rises above the ocean. 

Techno rests against the mountain face, smiling softly, ears twitching as crimson eyes track Phil’s movement. Ranboo chats to him but his shoulders are relaxed, now that he knows Phil is safe. 

Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy call out to Phil, laughter ringing across the water. They’re soaking wet, Tommy trying to tip the boat, but they’re smiling so wide, Phil keeps catching glimpses of teeth. His instincts don’t scream predator, they scream family.

Then there’s Sam, resting with his feet dangling into the water, small smile on his face. When Phil catches his eye, he winks and shoots him a thumbs up. 

Phil is in the open skies, his wings burning with the movement but he’s alive. His family is below him and alive. His heart bursts with warmth and love. 

They’re going to be okay. He looks at their smiling, happy faces, knows his own is reflecting that and feels complete. 

Phil is free and with family. That’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tired but I’m having a great time. I hope all of you are staying well and I just want to let you all know that I’m proud of you :) 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments, kudos and simply reading!! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am baCK BABY!! 
> 
> Hope all of you are okay, taking your meds, staying hydrated and being well-fed :)
> 
> TW// violence, mentions of blood and death, mentions of wounds and healing, mental health discussions 
> 
> ENJOY!!

There are few things he knows for certain. One: pain is always easier than love, it’s more natural and when it leaves, there’s an absence of hurt, not a cause for it. Two: he doesn’t need to win every fight, all he has to do is outlive them and he will survive. Three: he is not alone, not when the voices speak to him, comfort, listen and assist him. 

Those were the three things he knew for certain as a child and even as an adult, those certainties are hard to break. Even when surrounded by what he considers family, he can’t help but see the certainties. 

The thing is, they know what he’s like and so they don’t question him. When Phil first brought him home, away from the fighting pits, away from the heat of the nether, away from bloodshed and horror and pain, he was a silent child. He never fussed, ate what was given, slept where instructed and only threw a tantrum when anyone tried to take his sword. A sword given to him when he was too young. A sword coated withthe blood of hundreds or maybe thousands. A sword that he had a strange sentimental attachment to. 

So as he sits, quietly outside Tommy’s hotel, watching his little brother try to convince Purpled to buy a room, no one bothers him, no one asks. 

The infamous Technoblade, a silent warrior. 

He could laugh at the absurdity. 

_ StillBlade _

_ blood, blood, blood- _

_ Where’s Ranboo, my beloved? _

_ E, E, E- _

Techno is only silent because his skull is always filled with continuous noise. He’s not angry at the voices even if they can be extremely annoying. As much as he hates to admit it, he finds them comforting. 

Every life, every version of himself, every new breath he takes, they are with him. Ever since he made the deal that would seal his fate for as long as the waiver of himself was in act. 

Anyway, as much as they were loud and obnoxious, they were extremely helpful. 

_ Baby Zombie!!!!! _

_ Turn around NOW _

_ zombie, Blade, zombie  _

_ Blood for the Blood God _

Techno turns and spots the baby zombie running at Phil and he immediately shouts, “Philza, no!” 

Phil spins and starts laughing as Techno lunges, sword unsheathed in his hand, cutting the zombie down to dust. It’s become more of a joke between them but Techno can’t help the panic clutching at his heart, the spike of visceral fear he rarely feels. 

“I’m okay, mate,” he chuckles, reaching to grab Techno’s shoulder and squeeze. Beside them, Tommy rolls his eyes as Purpled makes his escape. 

“You’re almost as dramatic as Wil,” Tommy mutters. “As if a baby zombie could ever hurt Philza fucking Minecraft again.” 

Techno huffs at him. “With Phil’s life, you can never be too careful.” 

Tommy sighs at him but doesn’t rise to the bait. His eyes are sunken and he’s quieter, more subdued. Ever since their talk, Tommy’s been showing them the bad days more, instead of hiding in Sam’s house. Techno hates it, seeing his fear and distrust, seeing the boy that fought God and won, flinch and cry. 

Even if part of him still hates how he had to defend himself as a person, not the Blade he was infamous for being. He is more than a weapon to be used and he’s thankful Tommy has spoken to him about it, has tried to bridge the distance between them. Techno reaches back, missing his little brother. Even if that brother is now a lot more traumatised.

But they don’t ever try to make him hide it, not now that they know. Sam has explained ways to mitigate, to comfort but not crowd. Tommy can be as open or as closed with them as he wants. 

They’ve also discovered that sometimes the bad days overlap between individuals. Tubbo is sitting a bit away, chatting with Schlatt, who’s eyes are brighter than they have been seen before the Wars. He’s been sober for a while now and his hands no longer shake for a bottle. It’s good; Techno can appreciate the commitment especially when it comes to his clear determination for Tubbo to respect him, to be proud of him.

Only Tubbo’s attention is mostly focused on Tommy, gaze following him every time he twitches, shifts his weight. Tubbo’s nightmares involve Tommy dying in Sam’s arms, trying to comfort Tubbo even with his last breath. Techno’s never been more thankful to have not witnessed it: he doesn’t think he could ever look Jack or Niki in the eye again, not without immediately attacking. 

It’s why they’re here, together. Tubbo finding Tommy and clinging to him in desperation. It’s the only time Techno has seen Tommy not mention Tubbo being clingy. He simply offers his wrist for Tubbo to hold - to check his pulse, the heat from his skin, the blood pounding in his veins - and they don’t mention it. 

_ I want potatoes  _

_ E, E, E, E- _

_ Can we kill Dream? Pleaseeeee _

_ I agree I want the homeless green bastard dead _

Techno rolls his eyes. As much as he agrees - Tommy’s flinches, Tubbo’s blank gaze, Ranboo’s fear - he can’t kill Dream. Not when he saved Tommy and Wilbur. Not when he owes him a favour. 

“When’s this meeting?” He asks and Phil, who’s keeping his focus on Schlatt and Tubbo, shrugs. 

“Sam said he’d come collect us when Dr- he was ready.” Phil stumbles over Dream’s name when Tommy stills and for a tense second, they wait for his reaction. Tommy takes a few deep breaths but doesn’t speak so Techno nods. 

“Maybe he’s-“ 

“Michael!” Tubbo shouts in glee and they all turn to spot Ranboo appear around a corner, holding something to his side, tiny legs bracketing his ribs and tiny hands on his shoulder.

On closer inspection, the something appears to be a child. A child with pigmen ears and half his skull visible, a tiny sword sticking out of Ranboo’s suit jacket pocket. The child grunts and Tubbo runs forward, Ranboo easily handing the child over. 

There’s a lot of nuzzling involved and Techno watches the display with a strange longing. 

Techno takes one look at Michael - zombie pigman , Michael - and can sense Phil’s eyes on him, a soft, amused smile to his lips. “Not a word,” he says and Phil laughs. 

“Lips are sealed, mate.”

“This family loves pigs,” Tommy mutters but his face shifts into a smile - fake but realistic, so much like Wilbur, acting to hide - when Tubbo approaches. 

“Schlatt, Tommy, Phil and Techno, meet Michael. Michael, meet your relatives.” Tubbo introduces and Phil is smiling so wide Techno can’t help but sigh loudly, especially when Michael takes one look at him and snorts, making grabby hands. 

Techno is many things. He’s a warrior, a killer, a dangerous man but he’ll always be a piglin. He drops his hand from the pommel of his sword and takes the child from Tubbo with ease.

Michael immediately nuzzles into Techno’s neck and he mutters, in a language he rarely uses, “hey, little man.” 

It’s all guttural sounds and a clipped accent - he doesn’t speak it as much as he should, considering he lives on the overworld but he could never forget his mother tongue. 

Michael grinds his teeth and grunts into Techno’s neck and he asks, “can you understand what I’m saying?” 

He knows he’s being watched and Schlatt looks seconds away from making an offensive joke when Michael nods and mutters, “friends?” 

He nods, shifts his weight. “Friends. Do you know where your,” he pauses, considers what he’s about to do but knows it’s necessary and continues, “parents are?” 

Michael shakes his head, pulls back to stare at him with dark eyes. “Alone. Not anymore?” 

Techno smiles and Tommy squeaks at the obvious soft expression he must be wearing, “no. Not anymore.” 

Michael smiles back, curling his lips up and a part of Techno longs for the nether, for his home, for the family he never had. Techno shifts him as he leans back into his neck, tiny hands gripping his pink hair and Techno rests his chin on Michael’s head to look at a baffled Tubbo and Ranboo. 

“Did you just steal our kid?” Ranboo asks and Phil and Schlatt immediately start laughing. 

Techno rolls his eyes, switches back so they’ll understand him. “No, I didn’t. I think he misses the nether.” 

“Oh, god, Technoblade is going to be the favourite uncle.” Tubbo breathes and then grins. “Michael’s going to be so protected.” 

Tommy scowls. “I’m never the favourite uncle. Fuck you, Tech.” 

Techno rolls his eyes and the shifts Michael, making it so the boy can look over at Ranboo and Tubbo. Gently, he says, switching languages, “they’re your parents, little man.” 

Michael looks at them and then back at Techno. “Safe?” 

Techno smiles. “Safe. I trust them.” 

It’s a lot for him to say but he’s not lying. As much as he’s had issue with his family, and the fact he can’t quite put his emotions into words, he does care about them deeply. 

Michael snorts and quietly asks, “family?” 

Techno’s smile widens, showing his tusks. “Yes, they’re family. We all are.” 

Michael smiles back, a soft, cautious one and then makes grabby hands for Ranboo. The boy easily takes Michael from Techno’s arms and the child nuzzles against his throat, eyes slipping shut. 

_ Technosoft  _

_ Dad!Blade _

_ Where are the tissues? Someone give me a tissue _

_ adorable sending hearts as we speak _

Everyone continues to stare at Techno and his skin itches at the multiple eyes on him. He feels his shoulders draw up and he shrugs, looking desperately at Phil, who smiles at him. 

“Family, huh?” The man says and Techno stills. Of course Phil knows his language. After all, he was the one who helped teach Techno English. He can feel blood rise to his cheeks and he shakes his head, looks away, hand dropping back to the pommel of his sword. 

“Bruh. I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Phil.” 

Phil laughs and pats his shoulder. “Sure, mate. Like I said, my lips are sealed.” 

“Can you-“ Tubbo spares a glance with Ranboo before resolutely turning to face Techno. “Can you teach us how to speak his language? That way it’ll be easier to teach him English.” 

Techno nods, thankful that they’re not mentioning his moment of softness. “Phil knows, too.” 

Schlatt raises his eyebrows and turns to Tubbo. “Can’t believe you’re getting married, Tubbo. And that you have a kid.” 

Tubbo beams up at him even as his eyes track Tommy, who’s started to lean against him. “Dad or not, you’re officially a grandad.” 

“A fucking sexy grandad.” Schlatt grins at Tommy’s rolling eyes, Techno’s snort and Phil’s laughter. “What? I’m too young but if I must be condemned to this role, I’m going to look fucking hot while I do it. I’m going to have a line of fit grandmas thirsting over me.” 

“You’re disgusting, fucking hell, no one needs to know this,” Tommy snaps but there’s no heat behind it. He looks seconds away from sleeping and Techno’s concern burns hot in his veins. 

If Tubbo’s looks are anything to go by, he’s also noticed it, eyes tight as he grabs Tommy’s wrist. “Don’t worry, Tommy, just think of the implications. If Schlatt’s the hot grandad, doesn’t that make Quackity the fit grandma?” 

Tommy’s eyes widen and then he’s laughing as Ranboo stares at Tubbo in horror. Schlatt freezes and Phil is leaning on Techno as he wheezes. 

“Doesn’t that make Mexican Dream like a grand-uncle?” Tubbo continues and Schlatt blanches as Ranboo resolutely shakes his head. 

“Nope. No. Mexican Dream isn’t allowed anywhere near Michael. Adult life is already so goddamn weird.” 

“What’re you going to do, intimidate him with your height?” Schlatt asks and Ranboo’s eyes narrow, posture straightening to tower over Schlatt.

“You know how I’m filled with rage?” 

Phil loses it and Tommy can’t stop his own laughter as Tubbo giggles. Schlatt blinks up at him and sighs. 

Tubbo turns to Tommy and Ranboo. “I think Michael needs to sleep and this gives Tommy an opportunity to get some bonding time in.”

Techno’s impressed. As Tommy nods, leads the pair and Michael into the hotel, Techno watches and knows Tubbo has convinced Tommy to inadvertently fall asleep in a place he feels safe. 

“Schlatt!” Tubbo calls from the foyer. “Come and hug your grandchild.” 

Schlatt rolls his eyes but happily follows after Tubbo, a fond look to his eyes. Techno can’t see the ego-maniac president in his face anymore. He just sees a man who’s trying to fix his mistakes. 

Techno turns to see Phil already watching him. An intrigued set to his brow and he quietly asks, “Michael really is going to be protected, isn’t he?”

Techno rolls his eyes. “Of course he is. He has a scary enderman as his dad and his other dad is a boy who owns nukes.” 

Phil sighs and reaches across to grip Techno’s shoulder. “Either way, I’ll be beside you if it came to defending him.” 

Techno nods, refuses to acknowledge that statement as Phil drops his hand. Their relationship has always been easy. Phil doesn’t hover and he tends to leave Techno to his own devices. Yet whenever Techno needs him, Phil is there. 

Back when the voices started calling to him, small and scared, Phil simply looked in his eyes and told him that he understood, that he would be there when they were too loud. Techno may have been the first to learn about Kristin but it wasn’t through enjoyable circumstances. 

Techno’s famous saying, referencing the fact he never dies has a lot more truth behind it than simple cockiness paired with years of battle knowledge. Techno and his Blood God. Techno and his life that never seems to end. Techno and his life as a vassal. 

Centuries have past since his name was first spoken; centuries since he first made the deal. He doesn’t regret it but sometimes when the voices get too loud or the bloodlust overwhelms him or the need for violence sings in his veins, he wishes he’d considered it more. 

The Blood God needs blood to survive. As a child, bleeding out in the nether, a voice had spoken to him, soft and comforting. His blood and dedication to fighting wars would grant him a new life, a better one. He’d be stronger, faster, more invulnerable and if he were to be slain, his own blood would restore him back to that child and he would live again. 

The God never told him that every life he took would call to him in his skull. The God never told him that so long as his death involved blood, he’d keep living. The God never told him how monotonous death and war would become. 

Phil saved him in more ways than one. 

_ homeless man is causing trouble _

_ Blood for the Blood God _

_ please can we kill him, please, pretty please, Sam won’t be that bothered, promise  _

_ Is he going to kill Punz? I like that dude _

Techno blinks from his thoughts and straightens, walking before he can think about it. The voices rise in volume, screaming for blood, wondering on Punz’s supposed condition. Phil is hot on his heels. 

“Something wrong?” 

“Dream’s out and trying to kill Punz if chat is anything to go by.” Techno responds and hisses out a quick, “stop spamming or no more Steve content.” 

Phil briefly chuckles before he too has his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, wings tightening around his back. 

“Maybe this is why Sam hasn’t contacted us.” 

Techno shrugs, strides sure as the prison entrance comes into focus. “Sam knows I’m more than capable of offering my violence if Dream needs to let off some steam.” 

Phil hums. “Have you considered than maybe Dream doesn’t like to lose every fight he has with you?” 

Techno snorts. “He needs to be humbled, Phil.” 

They round the corner and the sight is one to behold. Punz has blood dripping from his lips and he’s trying to reassure a clearly frantic Dream, who’s holding his hands in a surrender, wooden sword lying a few feet away. Sam has stepped between them, holding up a cloth so Punz can wipe the blood away. As Punz shifts, he limps slightly and if the bruise developing on his cheekbone and the purple bruises along his arm are anything to go by, Dream is losing control. All that energy trapped in a human form. 

Techno steps up, feeling his blood hum at the challenge. The voices begin to chant in tandem. He can beat Dream, he has before but they’re equals in this. They always have been. 

“Seems someone couldn’t stand his cage anymore,” he calls and the man snaps his head around, stilling at the sight of Phil and Techno standing shoulder to shoulder. 

Techno remembers when he spoke to him after Sam and him woke, when Tommy and Wilbur came back. Phil had watched him leave, knowing his intentions as he grabbed his sword and axe and spun on his heel. Dream had expected him, hadn’t even bothered to taunt him as Techno punched him so hard his body went limp as his head collided with the rocks below, his mask cracking. 

“Next time,” he’d hissed, placed the tip of his sword at Dream’s neck when he tried to rise, watching the blood collect and spill from the wound, thousands of voices screaming for vengeance in his skull. “Next time, well, there won’t be a next time. You’ll be dead before you can even look at him. At any of them. Do you understand me?” 

Dream had nodded, frozen in place and while the voices screamed, Techno knew the vow had quenched their bloodlust just enough. Dream was alive because Techno wanted him to be. If he chose to hurt his family again, Techno would gladly take his life with a smile. 

Punz blinks at him, relieved smile to his lips and Dream steps forward, eager. He briefly turns to Sam and the man looks between them as Punz steps back to rest against the wall of the prison. 

“Techno, Phil.” He greets, voice dropping to a sizzle, showing his stress. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour at least. Karl’s going to be late.”

Techno shrugs off his cape and Phil takes it with ease, moving to stand beside Punz. He’s already guessed his intentions. Techno shrugs, unsheathing his sword and running the tip of his finger across the steel of the blade.

“We can burn an hour, can’t we, Dream?” 

Dream tilts his head. Those moments, the ones where Tommy’s head tilts and his stare is all calculating, are the reason Techno likes his fights with Dream. Those movements are all Dream stored within Tommy, reminding them all of what happened. 

“Are you sure?” Dream responds and Techno lets the bloodthirsty grin spill onto his face. Retirement was boring and after the Dreamon, there’s been few things to fight other than Dream when he gets like this. 

Techno is bored and if the screaming in his skull is anything to go by, so are the voices.

_ Blood for the Blood God _

_ blood for the blood god  _

_ kill the teletubby  _

_ Blood for the Blood God!! _

Sam sighs and then passes Dream his netherite sword, collecting the wooden one from the ground and backing away to stand beside Punz. 

“Watch it, man,” Punz mutters. “I think someone pissed in Dream’s cereal this morning.” 

Phil snorts and Sam shakes his head. “Please don’t kill each other.” 

Techno rolls his eyes, widens his stance. Dream copies the movement and for a moment, they size each other up. As Sun Tzu said, if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Techno has been here before, multiple times, and the result is always the same. 

They clash and it’s a roll of the dice who is victorious. Techno and his need for revenge over his brothers’ treatment, allowing the anger over the situation to fuel him. Dream and his need for power, his need to prove himself superior, God’s blood pushing him forward. 

The pause stretches: Techno likes the waiting, likes the hesitation his opposition shows. The longer the wait, the more time for fear and dread and unease to settle. Techno likes fighting, enjoys the feeling of blood spilling over his hands, flesh splitting open from his sword. Dream is more cautious, a runner not a fighter. Unlike Techno who needs war like he needs oxygen to breathe, Dream is more than capable of turning on his heel and sprinting from danger. 

Techno exhales, twirling his sword in his fingers and between blinks, Dream is there, sword raised and smiley-face mask grinning at him. Techno raises his sword to block and the dance begins. 

Here, they don’t have to worry about injuring one another. Techno heals remarkably quickly due to the blood and Dream is a God. Here, it’s all frustrations finally being released and killing blows.

Dream drops and slices, Techno jumps and lunges. Dream roundhouse kicks him, Techno punches him right back. Strength against speed. God against God. 

There’s a waver, a slice from ankle to knee Punz gave to Dream that’s causing him to favour his left leg more. Techno notices it but pretends not to. After all as Sun Tzu said, all warfare is based on deception. 

Techno waits him out, snaps and hits but his eyes focus on the wound. The inevitable will come and then, it’s all about Techno’s impeccable control. 

Dream cuts at his arm and Techno snaps his blade to block when the sword comes close to his neck. Pushing forward, Dream drops and rolls, putting distance between them. As he rises, blood begins to dye the grass below crimson. Dream lunges and Techno grins. Bingo. 

Snapping his hand out, Techno grabs at Dream’s sword hand, twisting as he brings his blade to his throat. As Dream struggles, Techno kicks at his leg and he falls, a hiss between his teeth. After a snap echoes from Dream’s hand - Techno wants to feel bad but Tommy’s terrified eyes, arms raising to shield himself, whimpering apologies fill his mind and the regret dissipates - and the sword falls by his knees. 

“Best of three?” Techno asks, pushing the blade against Dream’s neck. 

The man chuckles. “I’m not done yet.” 

He snaps his wrist to break Techno’s hold, careens back to grab the sword - kicking at Techno’s jaw to the point that he flinches away - and snaps upright. He’s wobbly and while staring at Techno, he checks his wrist and hand. 

Techno smirks. He never liked the easy fights anyway. Cracking his neck, he spins the sword in his hand and massages his jaw. 

“Good,” he says. “Neither am I.” 

They lunge for one another. 

The thing is, despite everything that has happened, Techno can appreciate Dream’s skill. Techno fights to win, he’s rarely had to fight to survive. His style is all flair and light movements even as he has the bulk behind it. Dream fights like he’s dying. He’s quick and nimble and maybe it’s the manhunts he takes part in but Techno always finds him to react and then run. He’s more of a snake, darting in when the opportunity presents itself and snapping back to defend himself. 

It’s fun. Techno has missed being able to let go, to let everything else disappear. 

“I didn’t sign up to fight, Sam,” a voice calls out and Dream and Techno snap their heads over to look. Dream has Techno’s braid in his hand, Techno has his sword to Dream’s throat. Blood drips from Techno’s nose, his hip, from Dream’s neck, his stomach and his leg. 

Karl blinks up at them, fingers hidden by his hoodie sleeves. He looks healthier from when the Dreamon was alive. His eyes are lighter and he’s got that nervous energy back that’s all Karl. 

Sam smiles at him as Dream and Techno step away from one another. Punz laughs at him, “trust me, you do not want to be fighting them right now.” 

Using the wall as assistance, he limps away, patting Karl’s shoulder. Karl watches him leave and turns back to Dream and Techno. 

“Purpled will actually kill you if you’ve damaged Punz.” 

Dream shrugs. “Once he gets a healing pot he’ll be fine.” 

Karl rolls his eyes and looks to Sam. “So am I here to referee or...?” 

Phil steps forward, wings fluttering. “Techno and I wanted to speak to both of you about something.” 

Karl and Dream share a glance and Sam gestures to the prison behind him. “Do you want me to leave?” 

Phil looks to Techno, who sighs in response. “Nah. You can stay.” 

“So,” Karl rings his hands together, “what’s this about?”

“Death.” Phil says and Dream immediately tenses as Karl’s eyes widen and he nervously laughs. 

“Hey, man, I’m getting married in a couple of weeks - or months depending on Quackity’s mood - so I sort of need to be alive-“

“Bruh. We’re not killing you.” Techno huffs. “We’re curious about if you’ve ever heard of Death, as in the person.” 

“Oh,” Karl breathes and smiles as Dream relaxes. Techno can see the thin line of the wound on his leg, indicating it’s now closed. 

Sam turns to Techno. “Shouldn’t you have more of an inclination considering you told me you and Death were acquaintances?”

“We’ve met before but I’d rather not meet again as that would mean me dying.” He gives Sam a grin. “Technoblade never dies.” 

Sam rolls his eyes and Dream looks to Phil. “Somethings wrong, isn’t it?” 

Phil sighs. “Look, I would rather not discuss what’s happening with a fucking war criminal-“

“Coming from you.” Dream snaps. 

“-but I’m all out of options.” 

Karl twitches. “The timelines fine. I would’ve felt it if it wasn’t. So it’s something small or at least, something that’s not damaging the server now.” 

“Have you checked the in-between?” Dream asks and Karl shakes his head. 

“I have no need to travel now that everything’s settled.” He looks between Techno and Phil. “Unless it isn’t?” 

Techno and Phil both stay silent. It’s not that they don’t trust Karl - they’ve met him before, years ago and Techno assumes they’ll meet him years in the future too - it’s Dream. He may be less of a villain now but he’s still a God, more than willing to exploit any advantage he can get. 

Not only that, Wilbur’s mental health is something they’re all trying to keep as stable as possible. He’s already made it clear that if he’s alone with Dream, he’s going to try and kill him. Plus, Wilbur means Tommy and something the entire family agrees on is to keep Tommy - and Ranboo and Tubbo by extension - as far away from Dream as possible. 

Something in Sam’s eyes flicker and his concern bleeds through. “Are they-?” 

Techno shakes his head. Of course Sam would cotton on quicker than the rest. If Techno ever needs a right-hand man, Sam would fit the role brilliantly. Smart and capable, and with a bomb in his chest. 

“They’re fine.” He looks to Phil and then adds, “for now, at least.”

Dream freezes. “Tommy and Wilbur. Somethings up with them.”

Karl shakes his head. “Schlatt’s fine, though. Trust me, Sapnap and I wish something was wrong with him so we could get him away from Big Q but the guy is perfectly fine.” 

Sam snaps his head around. “Schlatt’s not harassing-“

Karl laughs and it’s a dangerous sound, not the normal, easy-going one. “Sam. If Schlatt makes one wrong move, he’s dying. He’s not hurting Quackity again.” 

Dream laughs and looks over at Phil. “What exactly is wrong with Tommy and Wilbur?”

Phil meets Techno’s eyes. “Tommy’s fine. Wilbur... not so much. We think Death is trying to get his soul back since he’s alive now.” 

Dream’s head tilts. “Let me guess, he’s cold all the time, afraid that if he sleeps, he won’t wake up?” 

Techno stills. Phil’s wing’s twitch. 

“How do you know that?” Phil asks, voice low. 

Dream looks at him and then at Sam, who simply raises his eyebrows at him, silently asking him to continue. The silence stretches and Techno can feel the beginnings of anger curl up his spine. 

_ can we please stab the homeless green bastard? _

_ he’s going to lie or manipulate you Blade _

_ Protect Wilbur! Protect him!  _

_ If you won’t kill him, I’m going to try, omg _

“Dream,” he says, calm, casual, nothing like the voices screaming in his skull, “remember that chat we had? Yeah? Tell us what you know before I follow through on my end.”

Dream scoffs. “I don’t know a lot, okay?” 

“But you know something.” Phil says. 

Dream spins on his heel and freezes when Techno raises his blade up to his neck. Techno keeps ahold of anger, let’s it build and simmer. They need answers, not a dead boy. Before he can speak, Sam beats him to it. 

“If it were Tommy in Wilbur’s position,” Sam says and they all look to him, “would you still stay silent?” 

Dream scoffs again but Sam continues to stare at him, hard and unforgiving. Then, after a moment, Dream relaxes his shoulders. 

“You’re right,” he starts. “It is to do with Wilbur’s soul but it’s not Death wanting it back, it’s Death not realising he’s alive. Wilbur is here, alive, breathing but his soul is still with Death. It’s like when Karl goes to the in-between or when Sam and I were unconscious after the Dreamon. Our physical bodies and our souls aren’t connected.” 

Techno sheathes his sword, considers this. “Does this mean Wilbur’s going to die?” 

Dream shrugs, head tilting. “If he stays cold for a long period of time: yes. His body needs that heat or his soul will simply stay dead, thinking his physical body is. If he stays warm, I assume his soul will realise his physical body is still alive and return.” 

Karl hums. “That’s assuming his soul wants to return.” 

Phil blinks at him as Techno stares. “What?” 

“Well,” Karl says, voice stronger, “sometimes I can’t travel because my body isn’t... fit enough, I guess. It would put me under too much stress and I’d probably have a heart attack. When Dream - and Sam - fell unconscious after the Dreamon, they wanted to come back. Dream needed to fix the server and Sam wanted to make sure everyone was okay. If Wilbur was dead because he wanted to die and if his body is weak from being cold all the time, his soul isn’t going to return.”

“So are you suggesting we take Wilbur to the nether to keep him warm?” Techno asks as Phil’s face loses colour. They both know the implications of what Karl is speaking about. They could lose Wilbur all over again.

Karl laughs. “I mean, if you want to.” 

Sam reaches over to steady Phil. “Everything okay?” 

Phil shakes his head. “It’s my fault. His soul is trapped there because I didn’t bother to talk to him before I stabbed him.” 

“Phil,” Techno tries but the man shakes his head, wings pulling tight around his body. 

“We both know it’s my fault, Techno.” He says, quietly and looks between Dream and Karl. “So what you’re both suggesting is we never let Wilbur get cold and we give his soul a reason to come back?” 

Karl shrugs and Dream nods. “You can try but you’re the Angel of Death, Phil. Aren’t you married to Death? Surely you can can just talk to her and politely explain that Wilbur’s your son and he needs his soul.” 

Phil narrows his eyes at him. “If I could do that, why would I ever come and speak to you?” 

Techno snorts and Karl giggles. When Dream turns to Karl, in mock offence, the man laughs harder. 

“He’s not wrong, Dream. You are literal dog water and will soon be boxed like a fish.” 

“At least I’m not marrying someone who’s related to Mexican Dream-“

Karl steps forward, eyes darkening despite his lips pulling into a smile. “One more word about Big Q and I’ll end up accepting that fight.” 

Dream straightens. “You think you can take me, Jacobs?” 

Karl takes another step. “I think I can message Sapnap, tell him what you said about Quackity, and then we can double-team you.” 

Techno rolls his eyes and steps past Karl to stand by Phil. The blood has dried around his face and checking his hip, the wound has sealed. He doesn’t have to check to know Dream’s wounds have healed too. 

Phil looks at him and there’s a healthy dose of fear and regret. He’s looks older than he should in the young body he’s had for centuries: his eyes are duller, his face white with terror. It reflects the pain of possibly losing Wilbur again. 

If that happens, he doesn’t know if their family would ever be able to heal after that. Wilbur is an integral part and maybe it’s taken abandonment and war and death to realise that but they do need each other. 

Fundy needs his father and Tommy needs his brother and Phil needs his son and Techno needs his twin. 

Techno has lived his life as nothing but a soldier. He’s fought and bled and survived through horrors unimaginable. He’s been hurt to the point he never really knew what love was. He thought love would only ever bring him pain and he still does, a part of him can never forget that. 

But he knows love now. Love is Tommy finding him whenever he’s scared, seeking reassurance and protection. Love is Tubbo helping Techno with the bees, explaining his plans for Snowchester and asking about what politics would apply. Love is Fundy coming to him for advice, asking how to flip a dagger or decorate a shield. Love is Ranboo sitting with him, discussing his memories, asking about the voices. Love is Wilbur tucking himself against Techno, needing the warmth and simply strumming his guitar as Techno reads. Love is Phil always reaching for him, asking for his opinion, laughing at his sarcastic jokes. 

Even recently, Techno has started to accept that their family is expanding. Love is Sam, smiling at them from the sidelines, eager to help, to offer his advice, to offer his attention. Love is Michael and his little hands reaching for Techno.

Techno knows pain and hurt and anger but he also knows love. He knows that whilst he may be independent and a creature of solitude, he has a family who will make time for him, whenever he needs. 

“We’ll fix this,” he tells Phil as Dream and Karl bicker in the background, Sapnap rounding the corner, hand flickering with a flame as he grins. “None of us are letting Wilbur die again.”

“And if we can’t stop it?” Phil asks and Techno rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck. 

“Then we find a way, any way, to speak to your wife about how rude it is to steal her adoptive son’s soul.” 

Phil smiles at him, soft and scared but his eyes are filling with determination. They’ve fought worse, survived worse. Techno’s always been the fighter of the family and fighting Death is practically a typical Tuesday. 

Techno is loved and he loves back, in his own silent way. They know, though, and that’s all that matters. As Phil reaches to briefly tug at Techno’s braid, he knows finally where he stands in life. He’s always been the muscle but now that muscle is to protect the ones he cares about. 

“He’s going to be fine, dad.” Techno breathes and Phil’s head snaps up, eyes glistening with tears. It’s not a lot and Techno could probably do more to articulate himself but it’s enough. 

They’re his family and he’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and kudos, you’re all amazing ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM BACK, Y’ALL!! 
> 
> TW// mentions of child abuse, mentions of scars and scarring, PTSD symptoms and trauma responses, mental health discussions
> 
> I’ve written this as all of the relationships are queerplatonic ones but if you want to read more into the Dream and George scenes, be my guest ;) 
> 
> ENJOY!!

In every version, he always started his new life with the same face and the long gash - from his own people, from the ones that ostracised him because of his power, because he was younger than all of them but smarter - from his eyebrow, across his nose to his lip. His parents, though he’d never be related to them like a normal mortal would, were confused but he didn’t care. He had memories of his past lives to look over and a certain man to find, who eventually always showed up. No matter the time, in the same hoodie with a swirl on. 

The thing is, his childhood wasn’t bad. He’d grown up in poverty, grown up fighting, grown up as the lord’s son, grown up on sea. He was used to the different versions of people he could be, learnt that food on the table was important when it was impossible to work out when he was next going to eat, learnt that sometimes having a roof over his head was better than nothing. 

The problem is, he was different here. Every version of himself experienced life differently, experienced it as a baby to when he is fully grown. His memories of past lives were difficult to access when he was a child so it was easier to forget them, to live in the moment. It meant he started every life afresh. 

So here, he was Clay, even though he’ll always be Dream. Here, he had two parents that did love him and a little sister, who had the same golden hair he did. He was pretty sure if he looked close enough, she’d share the same godlike glow but he couldn’t be sure until his abilities would start filtering back in. 

His childhood wasn’t bad. He wasn’t abused or hit or threatened. He had food on the table whenever he wanted and a roof over his head and a little sister to play with. He could even say it was one of the nicer places he grew up in. 

Only, affection wasn’t freely given. Hugs were either void or demanded of him. He was yelled at over things he couldn’t control. Even when he was right, he was wrong somehow. He learnt to fight with whatever advantage he could get. He learnt when to avoid his parents, when to seek them out. He learnt that hiding parts of himself behind his mask - and wasn’t that ironic? Any version and it always showed up - but this time, he couldn’t use his mask without anger so he had to mask his emotions with only his face. 

He made sure to give his sister what his parents didn’t. He was there when she needed to vent, there when she needed a hug, there to take the brunt of the yelling when it happened. She tried, too, tried to give him a place where he could vent, where he could go to get a hug but it was not the same. It would never be the same as parental love. 

But the thing was, he knew they loved him. His birthday was always a day filled with gifts and food. They were there to tell him they were proud - only when he was at the top, when he’d done something they agreed with - of him. He knew they cared.

Maybe he was selfish for thinking it wasn’t enough. Maybe he was selfish for wanting more. He wanted someone to fight for him, to give him affection when he needed it, to not push and pull him around. Someone, he didn’t need the mask for. 

So the day after his eighteenth, he grabbed his little sister and ran. 

As he sits with his back against an obsidian wall, boxed in by more obsidian, he can’t help but wonder if that’s where it all went wrong. If his people could see him now, he’d be the laughing stock of the community. 

“Dream,” they’d say, faces all a little unnatural, too beautiful that it unnerves the humans when they walk among them. “We thought you were the smart one.” 

He still remembers the ceremony when he was kicked from their community. The slice across his face - a mark of his stupidity, his cockiness, his disobedience - had burnt and he’d found himself beside the water’s edge of a server. Alone. No weapons or armour. Just a mask laying a few feet away: a sign of the Gods, who hide themselves when around mortals. He’d been so cold, the effects of the ceremony scarring him in not one but two ways. He’d spent weeks in the nether, just trying to be warm again.

Dream shakes himself, wonders if Sam is in the building. The fight he had with Technoblade a week ago has done little to soothe his racing heart, the itch across his skin. Here, Dream is a wild animal caged. Inside, DreamXD watches through their shared eyes, wondering why Dream doesn’t simply walk out. 

He can’t. As much as he would rather be with George and Sapnap, messing around or having a manhunt, he can’t leave. He’s trying to prove himself, trying to prove he’s more than a cocky God obsessed with power, trying to prove that he does care even if he hates to admit it. 

Rising, he begins to pace. Energy burning as he does laps, trying not to rip his hair out. He knows he can call for Sam, knows he’ll be there as quickly as he can but he hates how dependent he’s become on the people that visit him. 

Puffy and her soothing words, the strength in her delicate hands as she grips him tight, holding him as he tries not to sob. Sapnap and his warmth, his chaos. George and his sarcasm, his reactions whenever Dream drops his voice low. Bad and helping him learn to cook, soft praises and large smile, half of the time joined by a laughing Skeppy. Karl’s infrequent visits to discuss the timeline, to explain how the server’s doing. Quackity and his one visit where he shouted all his lawyer knowledge before collapsing in Dream’s arms and telling him how he was missed, despite the fact he was a massive asshole. Techno and always showing up to fight, to help ease the tension from his shoulders. 

Sam and his near daily visits. There to offer advice, to bring Dream into an embrace when he can barely breathe, sharp and soft words exchanged hand in hand-

A message buzzes his communicator and he looks down, raising his eyebrows before turning to the camera and nodding. His body is still now, anticipation curling up his spine. 

The lava begins to recede and he tilts his head. He doesn’t know what he expects: shouting, a knife to his throat, tears and anger. He doesn’t expect Fundy in an expensive suit with a fiery determination to his eyes. In his right hand, he holds a large bag and in his left, he holds an outfit bag, zipped up and hidden. 

“Dream,” he greets, stepping closer and the lava falls back in place. “Are you free?” 

Dream blinks at him. “Uh, yeah, Fundy. If you haven’t noticed, I am currently locked in prison.” 

Fundy doesn’t laugh but his lips twitch. “That is entirely your own fault but good. I need you for perhaps the whole day and Sam has agreed to it.” 

Dream is still at a loss. Why is he here? Why come now when Dream only catches glimpses during the weekly dinner night? Part of him acknowledges his part in the why. He tried to destroy Fundy’s family and it nearly worked. Wilbur died and Techno was ignoring them and Tubbo was broken and Tommy was traumatised. 

Then Sam had to get involved and suddenly Dream is happily taking his punishment, accepting what is given with no thought of simply fighting back.

“Where am I going?” He asks and he’s not scared. He knows Sam wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Even Tommy when he lashed out, even George when he tried to leave, even when the server was vying for his blood, Sam wouldn’t let them hurt him. 

Fundy smiles and tosses Dream the two bags. With quick reflexes, Dream catches them and continues to blink at Fundy, completely thrown. 

“Quackity has nearly finished his plans for his wedding. I refuse to let Sapnap beat me at this.”

Oh, Dream thinks. Well, he doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t that. He looks down at the bags in his hands and then up at Fundy. 

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” It comes out bitter and a little twisted but Dream isn’t a good person. He’s sane enough to acknowledge that about himself. 

It’s why he didn’t fight back when Techno punched him so hard he tasted blood. It’s why he stays as far away from Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Wilbur as possible. It’s why he keeps beside George and Sapnap and tries to make himself small when they have weekly dinners. 

Dream knows he’s not a good person. He knows he’s the villain on the server despite creating it for peace and as a safe haven for his friends. He knows that he is too much, too violent or too quiet or too alive. 

Part of him wishes he could go back and simply walk away, let Wilbur create his revolution and take the seven of them as far away from him as possible. At least then, no one would’ve died and Dream wouldn’t he stuck in a prison. But he knows, in every timeline as Karl has explained, Dream only has to take one look at blond hair, blue eyes Tommy and it’s all over before it’s begun. 

Tommy and his excitement, his anger, his loyalty. Tommy and his perfect, little family, built on power and knowledge. Tommy and his way with words like Wilbur, his way with a sword like Technoblade, his way with being well-known like Philza. Dream can’t help but look at Tommy and see himself, see that God with so much power and happiness. Dream had thrown it all away and lost everything and looking at Tommy in those first few days, during the elections, the Wars, Dream wanted to do to Tommy what had been done to him. 

He wanted the boy, who resembled him to a scary degree, to feel the pain he had felt. He wanted to break him young so that he’d be stronger than Dream ever could be. Only, Dream has never been good with understand human’s and their fragility, their protectiveness over one another. 

He’d had Tommy in the palm of his hand only for Tommy to prove he was stronger than Dream in quick succession. Leaving exile, rallying the troops, taking Dream’s lives and locking him in prison for his crimes. 

Dream had learnt the hard way that Tommy didn’t need to be strong, he already was. 

He shakes his head, Fundy watching him curiously. As much as Dream wishes he could blame his mistakes, the consequences of his actions on Wilbur, he can’t. This was all him. Dream did this and part of him enjoyed it, enjoyed watching the bridges of friendship and family burn by the match he struck. 

It was only a matter of time before they left anyway: it was easier to force them away than to feel the rejection. At least he knows why he’s being punished and maybe, a tiny part of him enjoys that, likes the isolation and pain it causes him. This makes sense. He can understand that. He wants them to hate him, wants to hear screams of pain and anger, wants to watch as his friends call him a monster. 

But Sam had to interfere. Sam, the builder, the fixer. Sam, the one man that looked at Dream and instead of seeing a villain who deserved to rot for his crimes, offered his hand and his help. 

“Dream,” Fundy starts, interrupting Dream’s spiral. “I will never forgive you for what you did to my family but I want to know one thing. The first date we had, was that to get closer to Wilbur and Tommy?” 

Dream remembers the first date at the cafe, Fundy asking him to marry him. He remembers the dates after: in a flower field, fishing and tipping them into the lake, climbing a mountain to see who got there the quickest. They were all good memories, spent laughing and telling stories. 

Dream wonders if he should lie, cut his losses now. It would be easier, simpler. Fundy would hate him and his family would comfort him but he’d move on. They’re friends, at least, he thinks they are. 

“No,” he says, quietly. “Sapnap was with Karl and George sleeps through winter if he wants. I think I was lonely but no, at the start, I never saw the gain.” 

Fundy’s ears twitch. “But you did eventually?”

Dream nods. “Remember after the... fifth date, maybe the sixth, when I took you home and Wilbur was waiting for you-“

“You had to pick flowers out of my hair,” Fundy interrupts, soft smile to his lips, “and hide behind a tree so Wilbur wouldn’t think I was switching sides.” 

“Wilbur had that look in his eye and I-“ Dream stops himself and then sighs. “I saw an opportunity.” 

Fundy hums in the back of his throat. “Okay, cool. So the wedding’s still on?”

Dream snaps his head up. “I just told you-“

“The manipulation came after and I had already guessed it by then. You’re really not as subtle as you think you are.” 

“Then why carry this on?” Dream breathes, utterly confused. “Why try and marry me the first time?” 

Fundy laughs but it shifts into a sad snort. “You weren’t the only lonely one, Dream.” 

“You know I’m a terrible person who hurt your father and your uncle-“ Dream tries again because he can’t trick Fundy into this. He’s not good. He’s rotten and everything he touches gets hurt. 

Fundy deserves a platonic marriage like Sapnap, Karl and Quackity’s. He deserves a friend who will care and not see everything as a game of chess, always wondering where the pieces can be moved and judging how much he’ll have to lose - how much he’s willing to lose - to eventually win. 

He’s never understood how Techno can be who he is, a fighter, a warrior, a hybrid born from bloodshed, and still keep his family. Phil never once left his side and no matter what happened between them, Tommy and Wilbur were there too. 

“And my dad emotionally abused me and blew up the country that was supposed to be for me, but people change. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were at least trying.” Fundy shrugs and Dream bristles. “And anyway, you’re loaded, man. I need some way to pay for the extensive therapy we’re all going through and desperately need.”

“Sam’s making you pay?” Dream asks, raising his eyebrows, anger washed away by humour.

“If Sam was making us pay, we’d all be bankrupt by now. Karl, Quackity and Sapnap are getting married soon and I’m not letting them outdo me, okay? This is going to be the best wedding this server has ever seen or I swear, I’ll kill you myself.”

Dream stares at Fundy. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t make Fundy do this. Dream doesn’t deserve a friend like this but Fundy is smiling at him, ears twitching in his direction and tail flicking behind him and wow, when did Dream become soft?

He sighs and breathes, “fuck it.” 

Fundy cheers and spins on his heel as Dream flips off the camera, making it known that he doesn’t want Sam to watch as he hastily slips on the wedding dress. 

It’s beautiful, cut above the ankles for movement with lace sleeves and a lace back. Dream keeps his trainers and reaches into the opposite bag to grab the veil. 

The lava begins to recede as Fundy turns around, even to Dream’s complaint about bad luck, and fixes his veil. Sam stands there, waiting for them, amused grin to his lips, dressed in a deep green suit, hair slicked back. 

He whistles when Dream steps across the pathway. “Damn, Dream.” 

He laughs, gives a mocking twirl and is then led out of the prison after being gifted an iron sword for protection. He grabs the belt and sheathes the sword, following after them. 

Over the path, past a few buildings and Puffy’s house, the entrance of an underground railway appears. Dream slots himself in behind Fundy, who explains that to protect the church from griefing, he built it as far away as possible. Dream’s wheezing laugh fills the tunnel and a few minutes pass before they’re stepping out and Fundy’s hands are lifting his own to cover his eyes. 

A hand at his elbow draws him forward and he follows, tense and concerned, even as he feels Sam’s body heat from beside him. In his mind, it’s an endless loop of he’s safe, they’re not leading him to his death, he’s alive.

Then Fundy pulls him to a stop and a tap at his hands has him removing them from his mask, only to be left breathless at the sight. 

The church is all old brick and stone, vines crawling up the sides and around large stained glass windows. Surrounding the church is a forest of birch and oak trees, flowers filling the available space in the grass. The area must be built on a cliff as over to the left, Dream can see the calm waves of the sea or at least a lake, birds squawking to each other and the scent of salt in the air. To the right, the forest climbs up an incline, the sun peaking over and staining the church golden. 

He’s silent, in awe. It’s breathtaking. He can’t find the words to articulate the emotions swirling inside of him. Fundy’s ears flatten on his head and he picks at his nails as the silence stretches. 

“I had to rush,” he begins to babble, “so I’m sorry if it’s not to your standards but I couldn’t get ahold of where we were originally supposed to be married-“

“Fundy.” Dream says, reaching over to take his hands. “You’ve out done yourself. It’s beautiful.” 

Fundy’s ears snap up and he grins. “Thank you, Dream. Now, if you follow Sam-“

“I think,” a voice sounds and Dream spins to see Puffy standing there, hair pulled back away from her face, flowing down her back, dressed in a dark red suit. “I should be the one taking it from here.” 

Sam takes one look at the suit and raises his eyebrows. “Do you like reliving my nightmares?” 

Puffy snorts, eyes twinkling. “Aw, Sammy, you dream of me? Please, not in front of the boys.”

At Sam’s laugh and eye roll, she continues, “as for the red? It suits me, doesn’t it? Fundy wanted the Met Gala, so I’ve tried to out do the bride.” 

Fundy narrows his eyes playfully. “If Dream wasn’t such a good-looking bride, I’d say it worked.” 

“Thank you, Fundy.” Dream breathes and finds himself being offered Puffy’s arm - the boots she’s wearing are definitely from Eret’s collection because she’s nearly as tall as Dream - and she leads him around the back of the church. 

It’s quieter, more ethereal as light filters in from between the trees, mushrooms growing at their roots. Dream is reminded of his home. The forest still but bustling with life so long as he’s as still as the trees, as quiet as the wind rustling the leaves. 

He remembers a foggy memory of running through wheat fields, growing higher than him, and hurtling into the dark forest. He’d been told the rules of the forest, of the creatures within and the respect he must give them. Those days were spent smiling constantly, unnaturally bright green eyes light with happiness and glee. 

Longing burns hot in his chest. He misses the home he can never return to.

“Are you okay?” Puffy asks as they approach a side door and step through into a room filled with white flowers and a white couch.

Dream considers this. “I don’t know why Fundy wants to marry me but I’m more than capable of putting on a show for him-“

Puffy sighs and moves to stand in front of him. Gently, she reaches up and grabs the side of his face, tucking his blond curls behind his ears. His eyes water at the soft expression on her face, the warmth in her eyes. 

“Fundy may be using this as a way to one-up the others but you do know the other reason, right?” Dream shakes his head and she sighs again. “Dream, this is Fundy’s way of showing he’s over what you did. This is him, as Sam would say, offering an olive branch. Fundy hasn’t come to see you because he’s been with his family. This is him testing the waters, seeing if the friendship you two had is still salvageable.”

Dream swallows. “I don’t deserve that, Puffy. He deserves someone better. I ruined his family-“

“You don’t get to decide who he deserves, Dream.” She says, firmly. “You’re not the person you were and that’s a good thing. If Fundy believes you to be better, if he wants you back in his life, you’re allowed to back away but not for stupid reasons.”

“C’mon now. Abusing his uncle to the point of suicide and giving his father the ammunition he needed to blow up their country, isn’t a stupid reason. I think it’s a pretty good reason, actually.”

Puffy raises her eyebrows. “Two questions. One: do you feel bad for what you did?” 

Dream nods. He enjoyed it, he won’t lie about that but he knows that was the power getting to his head, knows the Dreamon was influencing him. After the Dreamon was gone, he was forced to acknowledge the pain he had caused. Tubbo flinching from him, Tommy’s rash anger, Ranboo’s terrified silence. He regrets allowing it to come to that. 

“Two: if given the opportunity, would you do it again?” 

Dream has thought this over for hours in his obsidian cell, wondering where his plan fell apart, wondering which part fell through. It falls to Wilbur antagonising him. It falls to Sapnap and George distancing themselves. It falls on the Dreamon, whispering about power. 

It falls on Tommy’s shoulders: his golden hair and light eyes, his boisterous, distinctive laugh, his determination and will to survive. Tommy, who stole everyone from Dream. Tommy, who refused to bow down. Tommy, who refused to die. 

Tommy, who looked up at Dream in exile, armour blown up and face haggard, and it was like looking in a mirror. Dream’s inner thoughts - his self-hatred, need for attention and love, his pain of never being enough, the rejection of his elders - were represented in the scared boy before him. 

Dream shakes his head. “I- what I did was wrong, I know that, Puffy. I won’t put them through that again.” 

Because he’s tried to find a way to work it out months previous. He’s looked at the server as a whole, at the Dreamon’s influence, at allowing Wilbur and Tommy to cross into his borders, at L’Manberg. What happened, he can’t fix. There is no solution that doesn’t end up with Dream in prison. 

So maybe, he deserves it. 

Puffy squeezes her hands gently on the sides of his face. “Dream, that means you’re not a monster. So long as you keep trying to be better, then Fundy can decide whether he wants you in his life or not. Just like the rest of the server.”

“I am,” he hisses at her. “I am a monster.” 

Puffy’s face breaks and tears collect in her eyes. “Oh, my little duckling.” 

He’s pulled into an embrace and he holds her as gently as he can, making sure his mask doesn’t dig into her neck. She holds him tight and he doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want her to let go. 

“You could never be a monster,” she breathes. “A bad person, yes, but not a monster. Monsters don’t care, Dream. You’re trying and that’s all that matters. I’m so proud of you.” 

He tries not to sob but the tears spill and he finds himself gripping her tighter, chest heaving as he tries not to break down. She doesn’t shush him, she just holds him, allows the comfort and warmth. 

He doesn’t remember his mother holding him like this. He doesn’t remember comfort given easily like this. It was always too much or too little. A parent that loves but doesn’t like their child, wishes they were different. The memories of his home are so distant, he doesn’t remember his birth parents, doesn’t know if they held him like this. 

Dream pulls away and turns his head to quickly dip his finger under his mask and wipe the tears away. Puffy wipes her own eyes and then laughs. He tilts his head at her and she laughs more. 

“I suppose it’s natural to cry at your duckling’s wedding.” 

Dream smiles, decides he doesn’t care anymore because she’s here and she cares about him. “Thank you for being a mom to me.” 

She freezes and the tears come heavy as he’s pulled back into her arms. “My makeup is going to be ruined if you keep this up.” 

He hums, sniffles. “Lead me down the aisle?” 

She sniffles, pulls back and smiles at him. “I’d be an honour. But first, I have to fix this.” 

Puffy gestures to her bloodshot eyes and black lines down her cheeks as she spins on her heel, leaving him alone in the white room. It’s quiet but he likes it. It gives him time to think. 

Does Fundy really want him in his life? Is Fundy no longer concerned about what Dream did? Dream hopes. He’s missed their interactions, their dates. Fundy’s always been smart and Dream loved hearing him discuss his coding, his contraptions. 

With an exhale, Dream peaks around the doorframe to see the pews and the people milling about. Sapnap stands, laughing as Quackity touches the wall and Karl stares sullenly at the stained glass windows. Purpled is chatting with Ponk, Punz beside him, legs thrown over the pews, leaning over to speak to Techno, who has what looks like a child in his arms. Tubbo and Ranboo stand behind him, trying to talk to Tommy, who’s being hissed at by Fundy while Phil laughs in the background. 

At the back of the church, Eret chats with HBomb, who’s conveniently in a maid’s outfit while Eret is dressed to the nines: suit jacket paired with a long skirt, boots making them as tall as Ranboo, crown tilted at a perfect angle on their head. Connor sits with Schlatt, who’s raising his eyebrows at a clearly annoyed Wilbur, Mexican Dream snorting something along the pew before him. Then to the side, Callahan stands with Sam, signing to each other. 

Dream’s trying to decipher what they’re talking about when a tap to the shoulder has him spinning to find Drista levitating behind him, blonde hair spilling over her mask. She’s not wearing a dress or a suit but Dream honestly doesn’t care as he pulls her into a hug. She grumbles but doesn’t pull away. 

“According to Puffy, this is your second wedding so why wasn’t I invited?” She asks when they pull apart and Dream can feel his lips twitch. 

“The last time I took you to a wedding, you complained about how boring it was and that the food was crap.” 

She sighs. “The buffet was definitely a budget one. You’re rude. Why wouldn’t I want to come and harass my brother on his wedding day?” 

He snorts, sees Sapnap approach. “Fair. Go annoy Tommy. Sapnap and I have to discuss best man things.” 

If Dream could see her face, he’d bet she’s rolling her eyes at him as she leaves, pausing to hiss at Sapnap. “Hey, mamas. Gross.”

Sapnap laughs and Dream watches as she lunges for Tommy, who immediately drops to a roll, eyes alight as Phil laughs harder. Sapnap looks good in a suit, the deep red blending with the dark black, reflecting the flames in his eyes. 

“Hey, man,” he says and Sapnap smiles at him. 

“Hi!” He reaches over to push Dream playfully. “Didn’t think you’d actually show, dude. Especially after last time.”

Dream laughs. “Maybe I like the scandals. Speaking of, where is George?” 

“He was still asleep when we left. He also has a note saying we’re doing very boring mining and the coords are a thousand blocks in the opposite direction to here.”

Dream blinks. “That’s... excessive.”

Sapnap shrugs. “Fundy wanted it and, I hate to say this, especially on your wedding day, but man is your fiancé scary. He’s very groom-zilla.”

Fundy, as if sensing them, turns and pins Dream with a spine chilling grin, showing off sharp canines. All predator. All cunning fox.

Dream gulps. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

Sapnap laughs, pushes his shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay, man. Fundy’s cool even if he’s currently upset Karl and Quackity over how amazing this church is.” 

Dream turns to smile when Puffy enters the room again, face flawless and Sapnap nods at her, takes his leave. 

“Ready?” She asks and takes her arm. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

Puffy whistles and the church erupts into brief chaos as people find their place, fixing their outfits, brushing back hair and touching up makeup. Puffy leads him out, back into the forest and around to the front of the church. Inside, Dream can just make out the faint humming of the Avengers theme as Tommy and Ranboo make their way down the aisle, spreading flowers around. 

Dream feels himself smile behind his mask. He’s missed doing random things like getting married, missed the humour and the chaos. It used to be like this all the time before he drove himself mad with power. 

Puffy squeezes his hand and he tilts his head at her. “All good?” 

The humming is replaced with silence, waiting for his entrance and Dream straightens. “Let’s go.” 

Puffy’s footing is sure as she leads him down the aisle. He’s met with wolf-whistling and some boos - from Techno and the child in his arms - and some retching, curtesy of his sister. Fundy is smiling at him as Wilbur waits as the only one available ordained to marry people. 

They climb the few steps of stone and white carpet and Puffy squeezes his hand one more time before stepping back. He’s left facing Fundy, surrounded by his server.

Wilbur looks him up and down and then looks at Fundy. “As your father, I have to say, I don’t like your bride.”

Fundy nods, lips twitching. “As your son, I have to say, I really don’t care since you dated a salmon.” 

Wilbur sighs as Phil and Tommy begin to cough to hide their laughs. “Touché.”

And just like that, the ceremony starts. Wilbur drones on and Dream may not be listening but he’s oddly light. Surrounded by his server, opposite someone who wants to be his friend again, he’s content. 

“Now for your vows,” Wilbur says and Fundy straightens, pulls out a set of cards from his pockets.

He clears his throat. “Dream. When I first saw you, I thought you were cocky, loud, reckless, but incredibly attractive so I ignored all of those flaws-“

“So, so many of them.” Sapnap hisses and Quackity snorts as Fundy sends a quick glare over to him.

“And decided that I wanted you in my life. You may be a criminal but criminals are hot so I suppose that’s fine. Plus, you’re the God of the server: I’m marrying into royalty practically.” Fundy huffs and smiles at him. “You may be a green bastard but hopefully you’ll be my green bastard.” 

Dream can’t help but wheeze as other members of the server start laughing. With a smile and a shake of his head, Dream starts to speak. 

“I may not have prepared any vows, considering I didn’t think this would be happening today, but I do have something I’d like to say. I’m sorry for the hurt and pain I’ve caused. I know that won’t take back what I did; it doesn’t really solve anything either but I have missed hanging out with you, Fundy. I’ve missed our walks and discussions and even if you’re marrying me for the social status, I’ll happily hand it over in exchange for a chance at friendship.” 

He holds up his hands in a surrender. “You’re right, I am a green bastard but I’ll gladly be yours.” 

Wilbur sniffles dramatically as Fundy stares at him with wide, warm eyes. He can another sniffle behind him and a few coughing laughs.

“I hate you both, that was beautiful. Anyway back to the ceremony-“ Wilbur begins again.

He asks for objections and the church remains silent so he continues. Purpled brings over the rings, gold crafted into what looks like a set of branches. Dream turns to see Eret grinning at him. 

“These are beautiful, Eret,” Dream says and their grin widens. 

“What can I say? I have many talents. Thank you.” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes and continues. “Do you, Fundy, take Dream, to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

Fundy grins, holds out a ring and slips it onto Dream’s finger. “I do.” 

Dream grabs the other ring, watches as Wilbur opens his mouth preparing to speak when glass shatters behind him. He’s moving before he can think, reaching for the iron sword Sam gave him to protect himself, watching as the others also grab their weapons. Techno, Phil, and Ranboo immediately slip in front of Tubbo, who’s holding the child to his chest. Punz shifts in front of Purpled and Puffy reaches out to grab at Dream.

Only to realise it’s a familiar figure crouching by the broken window, clout goggles pressed onto a pale face, dark hair wind-blown.

George unfolds, panting with his hands on his knees and hisses out a quiet but firm, “I object.” 

“Fucks sake.” Wilbur mutters and Fundy stands by Dream, blinking and pointing. 

“You’re too late! Also what the fuck?”

George smirks up at Fundy. “I object. You can’t have him.” 

“Oh dear god,” Wilbur continues and Sapnap walks over to the group. 

“How’d you know where we were?” 

George scoffs. “Sap, your wedding is clearly coming up and Fundy’s constantly coming over to make sure you’re not clashing dates. How dumb do you I think I am? Also, when have you ever left me a note?” 

“It would be funnier to have you hundreds of blocks away when George wakes up alone,” Quackity mumbles and George points at him but doesn’t speak.

“And the fact there’s a perfectly workable door?” Wilbur asks, frustration in his tone and George tilts his head up at him. 

“I thought you might appreciate the drama of the window.” 

Sam starts laughing and immediately half of the church is in hysterics. Drista floats over and flicks George’s forehead. Leaning closer she says, “that’s the second time you’ve done this.” 

George calmly regards her. “Well, it depends if Dream follows me out.” 

The church falls silent, multiple eyes on him and Dream shrugs. “This is Fundy’s big day-“ 

Because as much as it may be for jokes, Dream really wants to resolve their friendship. He truly has missed Fundy and he can’t expect too much too soon but Dream’s always been a little selfish when it comes to the people he cares about. 

He’s more than willing to dramatically walk out with George so long as Fundy isn’t actually hurt by it. 

Fundy, playfully, narrows his eyes. “You two are very suspicious for friends.” 

George smirks. “Well...” 

“George!” Dream finds himself shouting and the man laughs. 

“You can’t say you’re not enjoying this.” 

“C’mon now,” he breathes, just to watch George’s confidence melt away and be left with a blush to his cheeks. “You’re an idiot.” 

Fundy’s ears stand up on his head and he snarls out, “that’s it, I need 5up’s number and we’re having a shotgun wedding. Is there a chapel in your Las Vegas, Quackity?”

Quackity grins. “No but I’ll be right on that.”

“Wil, you ready to be Elvis?”

Wilbur cracks his neck and pulls finger guns as he voice lowers. “Uh-huh.” 

“Cool.” Fundy plucks a flower from the display and hands it over to Karl. “I may have lost this battle but I’ve not lost the war.” 

Karl grins at him. “We’ll see about that.” 

Fundy leans further forward, eyes as intense as Wilbur’s, a dangerous edge to his lips. “Have you forgotten about Quackity’s ex?” 

Karl narrows his eyes as Mexican Dream dances around Schlatt. “You wouldn’t.” 

“We’ll see.” Fundy says as Sapnap tries not to laugh. As much as Dream is shocked to admit it, he truly believes Schlatt has changed. He’s sober and still offensive but there’s a fond look in his eyes when he comes to Quackity. He knows Schlatt won’t ruin Quackity’s wedding, simply because he’d hate for Quackity to be upset. 

“Wedding’s off?” Puffy asks and Fundy nods, shooing Dream away after taking the ring back. 

“We would’ve been the ultimate power couple.” 

Dream laughs, reaching over to squeeze Fundy’s shoulder. “You’ll come visit?”

It comes out meek, weak and Dream is seconds away from covering it up when Fundy’s dark look fades into warmth again. All humour, all jokes. Fundy isn’t mad. 

“Of course.” 

Dream nods and then spins, ducking down, grabbing George and pulling him up over his shoulder. The man immediately shouts, wriggling to free himself, fists hitting Dream’s back. The church is once again filled with noise, cheers and boos hand in hand.

“Good because I’ve got to get this trouble-maker home,” he says, briefly looking to Sam to see the man nod at him, knowing he’ll return. 

“Seriously?” George snaps. “No one is going to help?” 

“You look fine up there, Georgie.” Sapnap coos and Dream wishes he could see the red blush that must be filling George’s pale skin as he whines and Sapnap laughs himself to tears.

“George, I will drop you.” Dream says, calmly, and George immediately stills, Sapnap’s laughter only getting harder. 

Drista pauses in front of him before he can leave. “Your wedding was the worst I’ve ever been to.” 

“Thank you.” Dream says and she reaches over to grab his hand, hovering to press their masks together as though their foreheads can meet. An old gesture, one of their people, of showing love. “See you when I’m out.” 

She hums. “I’m never inviting you to my wedding.” 

Dream blinks and shouts as she disappears. “Wait! You’re getting married?”

George thumps his back. “I did not run all the way to stop this service only to be left up here.”

Dream laughs and begins to leave after waving a goodbye to Puffy, feeling the pressure of George’s elbows on his back as rests his head in his hands. 

Outside, the air is salty and Dream’s dress brushes against his legs as he strides from the church, up through the forest. He’ll walk it, needs to stretch his legs now he’s out. At least then he can burn as much energy off as he needs. 

“So,” Dream says and can feel George tense. “You ran all this way for me?”

George scoffs. “Every second that goes by, I regret my decision.” 

Dream smiles, teasing and fond. “You love me really, George. Too much especially when you’re already married.” 

George sighs and mutters, “well, if it makes you sleep well at night.” 

“It does,” Dream replies, maybe with too much honesty in his tone but George doesn’t call him out. When it comes to their friendship, a lot is left unsaid. 

Dream, as much as a part of him hates where he’s ended up, is in his server, surrounding by people that for better, for worse, until death and even after that are still with him. He thinks of Wilbur, soul frozen and remembers the punishment of the Gods, the scar across his nose and the cold permanently branded into his bones. 

It’s been so long, he barely feels it anymore. The only reason he’s not with Death is his God blood, keeping him alive. Without that title, without his birthright, he’d be nothing but a corpse. His life means very little when he already knows he will live until his body crumbles to dust. Only then will he be met with his soul in death.

He supposes that’s why he enjoys Sam and Sapnap and Bad’s company, warmth radiating from them, reminding him of what it’s like to be human. 

The first week as a human, he’d been frozen constantly. He lived in the nether, in the desert, just to burn, just to be with warmth. Then he lived as a priest, as a farmer, he’d lived with a village that slaughtered him, met Karl, once, twice, more until he couldn’t keep count. Each time he started a new life with the same body and face, he wondered if the cold would finally claim him. 

Dream is still alive and he supposes he will be until his family - blood-relatives who cast him out - decide it’s his time and his punishment is finally over. Only then can he die and be reunited with his soul. Only then will he find peace.

“George,” he starts as he climbs an incline, “would you follow me into Death?”

George snorts. “You’re so weird. Would you follow me?” 

“I’d follow you anyway,” he says and George falls silent, the words hanging in the air. 

He’s not sure when everything he touched started to die but he’s acknowledging it now. Carefully, he pauses and tips forward, safely dropping George to solid ground. 

Dream has no idea what he’s doing. He had plans before: knew that Wilbur needed a push and Tommy needed isolation and Ranboo needed only his smiley-face to trigger his enderwalking. Dream is rarely without a plan, a plot, a scheme of some kind. Maybe it was his childhood, maybe it was the Gods, maybe it’s just in his genes but Dream is good at scheming, at being one step ahead. 

Only after the prison, the Dreamon, the regular interactions he has with his server has floored him. Dream doesn’t know which path to take. He can’t plan ahead if he doesn’t even have a simple plan. 

Does he pretend to be changing so they free him? Only, if he does that, then what? What’s the goal? Dream wanted power, wanted his server back but even in prison he still has that. The server’s population remains and Dream and Sam both know if he wanted to walk from the prison he could. 

The thing is, Dream is changing. He can see it in the rolling of his stomach every weekly dinner when Tommy purposely places himself beside Techno, as far from Dream as possible. It’s his sweaty palms whenever Sapnap and George are late to his visits and the faint tremble when Bad sighs at his terrible cooking. It’s his throat closing up when he sees Tommy’s flinches, Tubbo’s wide eyes, Ranboo’s silences as he too shifts behind Techno or Phil. 

Dream has discovered it’s an emotion called guilt and he really hates it. Guilt makes him want to be better, to never stop apologising even if it makes him look weak and pathetic. It makes him want to offer his server anything they want so long as they can forgive him. 

But what if he changes completely and they still don’t like him? It’ll be like his childhood again, a constant warring of emotions. He’s done the good thing but it’s not enough. What if they leave? Dream can’t cope if they leave again, he’s barely holding it together- 

“Hey,” George says and Dream snaps his head up, realises he’s frozen on the bank of a lake, panting even though a walk like that would never effect him like this. “Are you okay?” 

“M’fine.” Dream breathes, tries to reel it in, to calm himself but the ground seems to be moving beneath his feet and a wave of dizziness hits him. 

“Whoa!” George shouts, grabbing him as he tips forward and he finds himself on the ground, head pressed between his knees as George rubs his back gently. “Dream, what the hell?”

Dream shrugs, closes his eyes, thinks of a quick joke to ease the atmosphere of panic he’s created. “I think you’re too heavy, George. What have you been eating while I’ve been away?” 

“Don’t.” George suddenly snaps. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to deflect when you nearly fainted on me. What’s going on?” 

Dream wants Sam because Sam wouldn’t push. Sam hovers but he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand answers. He gives comfort without needing the reason why. 

But he can hear the fear in George’s voice, the subtle, underlying terror that Dream is going off the deep end again. 

“For the first time in my life, in my existence,” Dream starts, lifting his head and looking over the lake. “I don’t have a single plan.” 

“Seriously?” George asks, suspicion in his tone but Dream doesn’t rise to the urge of fighting him on it. George has every right to be suspicious of him after everything he’s done.

“I thought about pretending to be good but that would get me no where. Wilbur and Tommy are safely tucked behind half the server so there’s no point trying to get to them. Especially when Techno made it abundantly clear he’d kill me if I even took a step near them without their explicit consent. There’s no point.” 

George looks at him and jokes, “a Dream without a plan, what will he do? Hopefully not war crimes.”

Dream gives a half-hearted chuckle and faces the setting sun. “What am I supposed to do, George?” 

“Whatever you want,” George says and Dream rolls his eyes. “Continue baking with Bad. Start painting. Maybe learn how to make a sword.”

Dream sighs. “That’s boring, Georgie. I’ll go mad and then I’ll definitely start committing war crimes in anger.” 

George scoffs, leans back on his elbows, face tilted to the sun. “I don’t know, Dream. I can’t tell you what to do.”

“But I don’t know what to do,” Dream whines back. “I feel like I’m- I’m trapped in my skin. Fighting Techno only uses up so much energy before even that becomes boring.”

George scoffs again and then tilts his head around to stare at Dream. There’s a strange expression there, one that Dream doesn’t understand and he feels himself tense at the implications. He’s good at reading people and when he can’t, that normally leads to pain. 

“What?” Dream finally snaps when he feels the urge to draw his shoulders up and George gives him a small, sad smile. 

“Dream, you do know that fighting for your life isn’t a normal thing, right?” He asks and it’s soft in a way that George hardly is. George is harsh and cold, his emotions controlled and stable. The opposite of Sapnap. The middle ground of their group. 

“What?” Dream mutters, confused and George turns back to the sun, clearing his throat like he’s about to make a speech.

“Most people spend their entire lives never living through war. Most people tend to build a house and a farm, maybe make a small business for themselves. They have families and their troubles are small and then they pass. They don’t spend years on the run, fighting to survive, on edge constantly. Their lives are spent in that little bubble they’ve created.” 

“I don’t understand,” Dream says and George sighs. 

“When life is boring, Dream, you’re doing something right. It’s not suppose to be chaos and war and death. It’s suppose to peaceful with the occasional fun activity. Why else do you think I kept out of things? Why do you think Sap has decided to settle down?”

Dream blinks at him as George resolutely keeps his eyes closed, facing forward. Dream is rarely the one to be thrown from the loop, confused and disoriented. He’s supposed to be the one with the knowledge, the skill. He’s the hunter, the predator, the God. 

“But you and Sap were the ones who missed server-skipping the most?” Dream breathes and George laughs, sad smile morphing to fond. 

“I loved the adventure, the freedom. It was fun, I won’t lie but I couldn’t do it the way you could- the way you can, Dream. I’m not made for excessive travels. I like it here: it’s home.” 

Dream cannot wrap his head around it. All his life, even whilst he was with the Gods, all he knew was running. Sitting still was never an option, it was death. To be still, time would pass and he’d eventually succumb to dust. He’d petrify. 

He can’t imagine being able to see a server and think home. His last and only home was with the Gods, where the rivers were wine and the trees spoke to him. Even this server, his server, feels more like a stepping stone than a home. 

“I still don’t understand,” he whispers and George slowly turns to face him, smile back to sad. 

“Even Technoblade retired, Dream. If he of all people can decide to lay the sword down to spend time with his family, surely you can understand the appeal.” George shrugs, turns back to the sun. “I have everything I could want here. My friends, my family. This is my home-“

“For better, for worse.” Dream interrupts and George barks out a quick laugh but nods all the same. 

“Yes. For better, for worse. Until death. I’m happy and sure, sometimes I long for adventure, for chaos. I’m only human,” he sends a quick glance to Dream and earns a wheezing laugh in return. “So I plan a manhunt or I rile up Quackity or I move all of Sap’s furniture an inch to the left just to see him get increasingly frustrated. I don’t start wars or kill animals or manipulate minors because in my eyes, what’s the point? That road leads to pain and I’d rather be peaceful.” 

Dream swallows. “Yet you’re still with me.” 

George hums. “I am. So is Sap and Bad and Quackity and Sam and everyone else. Surely you’ve released that Philza would’ve taken Tommy immediately from this server the first chance he could’ve. He didn’t because, from what I’ve heard anyway, Tommy doesn’t want to leave Sam. And Sam, the sap, doesn’t want to leave you because he thinks you can change- that you are changing.” 

Dream wants to cry, throat closing up. “But what if I’m not? What if-“

“You’re sitting in a wedding dress next to a very open forest and lake and haven’t tried to run once. You saw Tommy and Ranboo and Tubbo and didn’t try to start anything. In fact, you’ve kept away.” He raises a hand when Dream tries to speak, pushes himself up from the grass to fully face Dream. “Now you can say that’s Technoblade saying he’ll kill you that’s stopping that but we both know DreamXD is more than capable of taking him on. You don’t do it because you don’t want to.” 

“You don’t know that,” Dream breathes and George smiles at him, soft and fond. 

“I know you, Dream. Why else would I be here? If you weren’t trying, I would’ve taken Sap and left as quickly as possible.” He says and Dream’s back to when George asked Dream to beg to keep George and Sapnap in his server.

George turns back to the setting sun and Dream slowly reaches up, removes his mask and tilts his veil back to feel the heat on his bare face. He shuts his own eyes and inhales the salt of the air. 

“What if it’s not enough?” He breathes after a moment and George sighs. 

“Just because it’s taking a while for people to approach you again, doesn’t mean it’s not enough. You’ve done so much, I’m surprised people are even approaching you now-“

Dream snaps, “hey!” 

George rolls his eyes. “You’re a literal war criminal, Dream. I can list your crimes both alphabetically and chronologically.” 

Dream feels a smirk fill his face and he sings, quietly, “mama, I’m in love with a criminal-“

“Piss off.” George snaps but there’s no heat, just fond exasperation. “What I’m trying to say, Deeam, is that people do care. If they didn’t, we all would’ve left but something kept us here. This is our home. For better, for worse until death and then even after that if you use your God magic.” 

Dream looks over and finds George watching him, lips twitching. Dream smiles back at him. In front of them, the sky is painted orange and red, light dying into embers. 

“Is that right, Georgie?” He says, quietly, the moment too good to be shattered by anything loud. “You’re going to stay with me, for better, for worse, till death do us part?”

George rolls his eyes but he doesn’t drop the smile. “Shut up. You’re an idiot.”

They both can hear the underlying words to that, the warmth embedded in the unvoiced, “I do.” 

“What about you, huh, Dream? You’re going to stay with me, for better, for worse, till death do us part?”

“C’mon now,” Dream drawls and yet again the unspoken is said between them, a content, “I do.”

Dream turns back to the sunset, light like fire spreading across the lake and he feels his heart pound. He’s trying and he’s definitely not a good person but he can change. He has centuries to do so. 

He knows what he has to do, a plan - a good one, a nice one, something that won’t cause pain or horror or war - settling inside his skull. He’ll run it by George, Sapnap and Sam before, to check, to make sure he’s not overstepping or ruining things. 

But as the light fades from the sky, the light inside of him grows. His future is bright. As much as he can’t see it - his skewed childhood, the constant running, the scar reminding him of his loss - he knows he can make a home out of his server, a family out of the people around him, peace out of the chaos he’s caused. 

Dream wants a forever home, a forever family, even if his life has been dictated by things he can’t control. Maybe he should take George’s advice and follow Techno, lay down his urge to fight and survive. He doesn’t need to do that anymore. 

With a long exhale, Dream smiles to himself and closes his eyes, George beside him. He may be the villain but he’s going to change. If not for himself, for the lives he’s ruined and for his friends’ sake. 

Dream can see the path he needs to take. As he leans down and allows the grass to cradle him, he smiles, baring his scar to the sun, to George, to his server.

Dream sees the path. He takes the first step.

“George,” he starts, earning a soft hum from the man beside him. “How much do you know about Death?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The steam, lads, the stream!! He’s alive but I’m still worried. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you all for your kudos and comments. I really appreciate it!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> So, how are we all coping with stream? Because, well, I’m very confused and the grief... not good.
> 
> Let me know in the comments if you enjoyed and if you have any headcannons because I love them :)
> 
> Thank you!!


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